G  I  RL  S 

Wwa  BECAME  FaMGU  S  A 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 


DR.  AND  MRS.  ELMER  BELT 


/^  {MyCoo  , 


//^  '  /^/ y-c. 


HAKKIET  BEECHEK   STOWE. 


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LIVES 


GIRLS  WHO  BECAME  FAMOUS. 


BY 


SARAH    K.    BOLTON, 

AUTHOR  OF  "poor  BOYS  WHO  BECAME   FAMOUS,"   "SOCIAL 
STUDIES   IN   ENGLAND,"   ETC. 


Earth's  noblest  thinrj,  a  icoinan  perfected.''^ 

—  James  Russell  Lowell. 
Soiv  good  services  ;  sweet  remembrances  toill  grow  from 
them."  —Madame  de  Staj^l. 


NE\Y   YORK: 

THOMAS  Y.   CROWELL   &   CO. 

13  AsTOR  Place. 


Copyright, 
By  Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Cd= 

1886. 


J.  S.  CusniKG  &  Co.,  Printehs,  Boston. 


AC 

D 


TO 
MY   AUNT, 

IHrs.  fHartlja  m.  Jfliller, 

Whose  culture  and   kindness   I   count 

annong  the  blessings  of 

my  life. 


PEEFACE. 


A  LL  of  ns  have  aspirations.  We  build  air- 
■^-^  castles,  and  are  probably  the  happier  for  the 
building.  However,  the  sooner  we  learn  that  life 
is  not  a  play-day,  but  a  thing  of  earnest  activity, 
the  better  for  us  and  for  those  associated  with  us. 
"Energy,"  says  Goethe,  "will  do  anything  that 
can  be  done  in  this  world "  ;  and  Jean  Ingelow 
truly  says,  that  "  Work  is  heaven's  best." 

If  we  cannot,  like  George  Eliot,  write  Adam  Bede, 
we  can,  like  Elizabeth  Fry,  visit  the  poor  and  the 
prisoner.  If  we  cannot,  like  Rosa  Bonheur,  paint 
a  "Horse  Fair,"  and  receive  ten  thousand  dollars, 
we  can,  like  Mrs.  Stowe  and  Miss  Alcott,  do  some 
kind  of  work  to  lighten  the  burdens  of  parents.  If 
poor,  with  Mary  Lyon's  persistency  and  noble  pur- 
pose, we  can  accomplish  almost  anything.  If  rich, 
like  Baroness  Burdett-Coutts,  we  can  bless  the 
world  in  thousands  of  ways,  and  are  untrue  to  God 
and  ourselves  if  we  fail  to  do  it. 


Vi  PREFACE. 

Margaret   Fuller  said,   "All   might   be    superior 

beings,"    and   doubtless    this    is    true,    if    all   were 

willing:    to    cultivate   the    mind    and    beautify   the 

character. 

S.  K.  B. 


OONTEITTS. 


PAGE 

Harriet  Beecher  Stoave Novelist 1 

Helen  Hunt  Jackson  Poet  and  Prose  Writer,  18 

LucRETiA  MoTT Preacher 33 

Mary  A.  Livermore Lecturer 50 

Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli Journalist G8 

Maria  Mitchell Scientist 87 

Louisa  M.  Alcott Author 104 

Mary  Lyon Teacher  122 

Harriet  G.  Hosmer Sculptor 141 

(  Novelist  and        \  ^  _q 

Madame  de  Staisl ^  Political  AVriter  i    '  *  '  ^^^ 

Rosa  Bonheur Artist 180 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning,  Poet 194 

"  George  Eliot  " Novelist  213 

Elizabeth  Fry Philanthropist    240 

Elizabeth  Tho3ipson  Butler  .  .Painter 261 

Florence  Nightingale Hospital  Nurse 278 

Lady  Brassey Traveller 300 

Baroness  Burdett-Coutts Benefactor 320 

Jean  Ingelow Poet 331 


HARRIET   BEECHER   STOWE. 


)>«<c 


IN  a  plain  home,  in  the  town  of  Litchfield,  Conn., 
was  born,  June  14,  1811,  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe.  The  house  was  well-nigh  full  of  little 
ones  before  her  coming.  She  was  the  seventh 
child,  while  the  oldest  was  but  eleven  years  old. 

Her  father,  Rev.  Lyman  Beecher,  a  man  of  re- 
markable mind  and  sunshiny  heart,  was  preaching 
earnest  sermons  in  his  own  and  in  all  the  neigliboriug 
towns,  on  the  munificent  salary  of  five  hundred  dol- 
lars a  year.  Her  mother,  Roxana  Beecher,  was  a 
woman  whose  beautiful  life  has  been  an  inspiration 
to  thousands.  With  an  education  superior  for  those 
times,  she  came  into  the  home  of  the  young  minister 
with  a  strength  of  mind  and  heart  that  made  her 
his  companion  and  reliance. 

There  were  no  carpets  on  the  floors  till  the  girl- 
wife  laid  down  a  piece  of  cotton  cloth  on  the  parlor, 
and  painted  it  in  oils,  with  a  border  and  a  bunch 
of  roses  and  others  flowers  in  the  centre.  When 
one  of  the  good  deacons  came  to  visit  them,  the 
preacher  said,  "Walk  in,  deacon,  walk  in  !  " 

"  Why,  I  can't,"  said  he,  "  'thout  steppin'  on't." 
Then  he  exclaimed,  in  admiration,  "D'ye  think  ye 
can  have  all  that,  and  heaven  too?'' 


2  .       HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 

So  meagre  was  the  salary  for  the  increasing  house- 
hold, that  Roxana  urged  that  a  select  school  be 
started ;  and  in  this  she  taught  French,  drawing, 
painting,  and  embroider^-,  besides  the  higher  Eng- 
lish branches.  With  all  this  work  she  found  time 
to  make  herself  the  idol  of  her  children.  AYhile 
Henry  Ward  hung  round  her  neck,  she  made  dolls 
for  little  Harriet,  and  read  to  them  from  Walter 
Scott  and  Washington  Irving. 

These  were  enchanting  daj's  for  the  enthusiastic 
girl  with  brown  curls  and  blue  eyes.  She  roamed 
over  the  meadows,  and  through  the  forests,  gather- 
ing wild  flowers  in  the  spring  or  nuts  in  the  fall,  be- 
ing educated,  as  she  afterwards  said,  '-lirst  and 
foremost  by  Nature,  wonderful,  beautiful,  ever-chang- 
ing as  she  is  in  that  cloudland,  Litchfield.  There 
were  the  crisp  apples  of  the  pink  azalea,  —  hone}^- 
suckle-apples,  we  called  them ;  there  were  scarlet 
wintergreen  berries  ;  there  were  pink  shell  blossoms 
of  trailing  arbutus,  and  featherc  of  ground  pine  ; 
there  were  blue  and  white  and  yellow  yiolets,  and 
crowsfoot,  and  bloodroot,  and  wild  anemone,  and 
other  quaint  forest  treasures." 

A  single  incident,  told  by  herself  in  later  years, 
will  show  the  frolic-loving  spirit  of  the  girl,  and  the 
gentleness  of  Roxana  Beecher.  "Mother  was  an 
enthusiastic  horticulturist  in  all  the  small  ways  that 
limited  means  allowed.  Her  brother  John,  in  New 
York,  had  just  sent  her  a  small  parcel  of  fine  tulip- 
bulbs.     I  remember  rummaoiog-  these  out  of  an  ob- 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE.  3 

sciire  corner  of  the  nursery  one  clay  when  she  was 
gone  out,  and  being  strong!}'  seized  with  the  idea 
that  they  were  good  to  eat,  and  using  all  the  little 
English  I  then  possessed  to  persuade  my  brothers 
that  these  were  onions,  such  as  grown  people  ate, 
and  would  be  very  nice  for  us.  So  we  fell  to  and 
devoured  the  whole  ;  and  I  recollect  being  somewhat 
disappointed  m  the  odd,  sweetish  taste,  and  thinking 
that  onions  were  not  as  nice  as  I  had  supposed. 
Then  mother's  serene  face  appeared  at  the  nursery 
door,  and  we  all  ran  toward  her,  and  with  one  voice 
began  to  tell  our  discovery  and  achievement.  We 
had  found  this  bag  of  onions,  and  had  eaten  them 
all  up. 

"  There  was  not  even  a  momentary  expression  of 
impatience,  but  she  sat  down  and  said,  '•  My  dear 
children,  what  you  have  done  makes  mamma  very 
sorry ;  those  were  not  onion  roots,  but  roots  of 
beautiful  flowers  ;  and  if  you  had  let  them  alone, 
ma  would  have  had  next  summer  in  the  garden, 
great,  beautiful  red  and  yellow  flowers,  such  as 
you  never  saw.'  I  remember  how  drooping  and  dis- 
appointed we  all  grew  at  this  picture,  and  how 
sadly  we  regarded  the  empty  paper  bag." 

When  Harriet  was  five  3'ears  old,  a  deep  shadow 
fell  upon  the  happy  household.  Eight  little  chil- 
dren were  gathered  round  the  bedside  of  the  dying 
mother.  AYhen  they  cried  and  sobbed,  she  told  them, 
with  inexpressible  sweetness,  that  "God  could  do 
more   for   them  than  she  had   ever  done   or  could 


4  HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 

do,  and  that  they  must  trust  Him,"  and  urged  her 
six  sons  to  become  ministers  of  the  Gospel.  ^Yhen 
her  h.eart-broken  husband  repeated  to  her  the  verse, 
"  You  are  now  come  unto  Mount  Zion,  unto  the  city 
of  the  hving  God,  the  heavenly  Jerusalem,  and  to 
an  innumerable  company  of  angels  ;  to  the  general 
assembly  and  church  of  the  first-born,  which  are 
written  in  heaven,  and  to  God  the  Judge  of  all,  and 
to  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect,  and  to  Jesus 
the  Mediator  of  the  New  Covenant,"  she  looked  up 
into  his  face  with  a  beautiful  smile,  and  closed  her 
eyes  forever.  That  smile  Mr.  Beecher  never  forgot 
to  his  dying  day. 

The  whole  family  seemed  crushed  by  the  blow. 
Little  Henry  (now  the  great  preacher),  who  had 
been  told  that  his  mother  had  been  buried  in  the 
ground,  and  also  that  she  had  gone  to  heaven,  was 
found  one  morniug  digging  with  all  his  might  under 
his  sister's  window,  saying,  '-I'm  going  to  heaven, 
to  find  ma  !  " 

So  much  did  Mr.  Beecher  miss  her  counsel  and 
good  judgment,  that  he  sat  down  and  wrote  her  a 
loug  letter,  pouring  out  his  whole  soul,  hoping  some- 
how that  she,  his  guardian  angel,  though  dead, 
might  see  it.  A  year  later  he  wrote  a  friend : 
''There  is  a  sensation  of  loss  which  nothing  allevi- 
ates—  a  solitude  which  no  society  interrupts.  Amid 
the  smiles  and  prattle  of  children,  and  the  kindness 
of  sympathizing  friends,  I  am  alone;  Roxana  is  not 
here.     She  partakes  in  none  of  my  joys,  and  bears 


HARRIET  BE  EC  HER  STOWE.  5 

with  me  none  of  my  sorrows.  I  do  not  murmur  ;  I 
only  feel  daily,  constantly,  and  with  deepening  im- 
pression, how  much  I  have  had  for  which  to  be 
thankful,  and  how  much  I  have  lost.  .  .  .  The  whole 
3'ear  after  her  death  was  a  3ear  of  great  emptiness, 
as  if  there  was  not  motive  enough  in  the  world  to 
move  me.  I  used  to  pray  earnestly  to  God  either 
to  take  me  away,  or  to  restore  to  me  that  interest 
in  things  and  susceptibility  to  motive  I  had  had  be- 
fore." 

Once,  when  sleeping  in  the  room  where  she  died, 
he  dreamed  that  Roxana  came  and  stood  beside 
him,  and  "smiled  on  me  as  with  a  smile  from 
heaven.  With  that  smile,"  he  said,  "all  my  sor- 
row passed  away.  I  awoke  joyful,  and  I  was  light- 
hearted  for  weeks  after." 

Harriet  went  to  live  for  a  time  with  her  aunt  and 
grandmother,  and  then  came  back  to  the  lonesome 
home,  into  which  Mr.  Beecher  had  felt  the  necessity 
of  bringing  a  new  mother.  She  was  a  refined  and 
excellent  w^oman,  and  won  the  respect  and  affection 
of  the  family.  At  first  Harriet,  with  a  not  unnat- 
ural feeling  of  injurj',  said  to  her:  "Because  you 
have  come  and  married  my  father,  when  I  am  big 
enough,  I  mean  to  go  and  marry  3'our  father ;  "  but 
she  afterwards  learned  to  love  her  very  much. 

At  seven,  with  a  remarkably  retentive  memory, — 
a  thing  which  many  of  us  spoil  by  trashy  reading,  or 
allowing  our  time  and  attention  to  ])e  distracted  by 
the  trifles  of  every-day  life,  —  Harriet  had  learned 


6  HARRIET  BEECIIER   STOWE. 

twenty-seven  hymns  and  two  long  chapters  of  the 
Bible.  She  was  exceeding! 3^  fond  of  reading,  but 
there  was  little  in  a  poor  minister's  librar}^  to  attract 
a  child.  She  found  BelVs  Sermons,  and  Toplady 
on  Predestination.  "  Then,"  she  says,  '•  there  was 
a  side  closet  full  of  documents,  a  weltering  ocean  of 
pamphlets,  in  which  I  dug  and  toiled  for  hours,  to 
be  repaid  by  disinterring  a  delicious  morsel  of  a 
Don  Quixote^  that  had  once  been  a  book,  but  was 
now  lying  in  forty  or  fifty  dissecta  membra,  amid 
Calls,  Appeals,  Essaj's,  Reviews,  and  Rejoinders. 
The  turning  up  of  such  a  fragment  seemed  like  the 
rising  of  an  enchanted  island  out  of  an  ocean  of 
mud."  Finally  Ivanhoe  was  obtained,  and  she  and 
her  l)rother  George  read  it  throuo-h  seven  times. 

At  twelve,  we  find  her  in  the  school  of  Mr.  John 
P.  Brace,  a  well-known  teacher,  where  she  developed 
great  fondness  for  composition.  At  the  exhibition 
at  the  close  of  the  year,  it  was  the  custom  for  all 
the  parents  to  come  and  listen  to  the  wonderful  pro- 
ductions of  their  children.  From  the  list  of  subjects 
given,  Harriet  had  chosen,  "Can  the  Immortality  of 
the  Soul  be  proved  by  the  Light  of  Nature  ?  " 

"  TThen  mine  was  read,"  she  says,  "I  noticed 
that  father  brightened  and  looked  interested.  '  AVho 
wrote  that  composition?'  he  asked  of  Mr.  Brace. 
^  Your  daughter,  sir !'  was  the  answer.  There  was 
no  mistaking  father's  face  when  he  was  pleased,  and 
to  have  interested  Jiim^  was  past  all  juvenile  tri- 
umphs." 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE.  7 

A  new  life  was  now  to  open  to  Harriet.  Her 
only  sister  Catharine,  a  brilliant  and  noble  girl,  was 
engaged  to  Professor  Fisher  of  Yale  College. 
They  were  to  be  married  on  his  return  from  a  Euro- 
pean tour,  but  alas !  the  Albion,  on  which  he 
sailed,  went  to  pieces  on  the  rocks,  and  all  on  board, 
save  one,  perished.  Her  betrothed  was  never  heard 
from.  For  months  all  hope  seemed  to  go  out  of 
Catharine's  life,  and  then,  with  a  strong  will,  she 
took  up  a  course  of  mathematical  study,  his  favorite 
study,  and  Latin  under  her  brother  Edward.  She 
was  now  twenty-three.  Life  was  not  to  be  along  the 
pleasant  paths  she  had  hoped,  but  she  must  make  it 
tell  for  the  future. 

With  remarkable  energy,  she  went  to  Hartford, 
Conn.,  where  her  brother  was  teaching,  and  thor- 
oughly impressed  with  the  belief  that  God  had 
a  work  for  her  to  do  for  girls,  she  raised  several 
thousand  dollars  and  built  the  Hartford  Female 
Seminary.  Her  brothers  had  college  doors  opened 
to  them  ;  why,  she  reasoned,  should  not  women  have 
equal  opportunities?  Society  wondered  of  what 
possible  use  Latin  and  moral  philosophy  could  be  to 
girls,  but  they  admired  Miss  Beecher,  and  let  her  do 
as  slie  pleased.  Students  poured  in,  and  the  semi- 
nary soon  overflowed.  My  own  school  life  in  that 
beloved  institution,  years  afterward,  I  shall  never 
forget. 

A.nd  now  the  little  twelve-year-old  Harriet  came 
down  from  Litchfield  to  attend  Catharine's  school, 


8  HARRIET  BE  EC  HER  STOWE. 

aud  soon  become  a  pupil-teacher,  that  the  burden  of 
support  might  not  fall  too  heavily  upon  the  father. 
Other  children  had  come  into  the  Beecher  home,  and 
with  a  salaiy  of  eight  hundred  dollars,  poverty  could 
not  be  other  than  a  constant  attendant.  Once  when 
the  family  were  greatly  straitened  for  mone}^  while 
Henry  and  Charles  were  in  college,  the  new  mother 
went  to  bed  weeping,  but  the  father  said,  "Well, 
the  Lord  always  has  taken  care  of  me,  and  I  am  sure 
He  always  will,"  and  was  soon  fast  asleep.  The 
next  morning,  Sunday,  a  letter  was  handed  in  at  the 
door,  containing  a  $100  bill,  and  no  name.  It  was 
a  thank-offering  for  the  conversion  of  a  child. 

Mr.  Beecher,  with  all  his  poverty,  could  not  help 
being  generous.  His  wife,  by  close  economy,  had 
saved  twenty- five  dollars  to  buy  a  new  overcoat  for 
him.  Handing  him  the  roll  of  bills,  he  started  out 
to  purchase  the  garment,  but  stopped  on  the  way  to 
attend  a  missionary  meeting.  His  heart  warmed  as 
he  stayed,  and  when  the  contribution-box  was 
passed,  he  put  in  the  roll  of  bills  for  the  Sandwich 
Islanders,  and  went  home  with  his  threadbare  coat ! 

Three  years  later,  Mr.  Beecher,  who  had  now  be- 
come widely  known  as  a  revivalist  and  brilliant 
preacher,  was  called  to  Boston,  where  he  remained 
for  six  years.  His  six  sermons  on  intemperance 
had  stirred  the  whole  country. 

Though  he  loved  Boston,  his  heart  often  turned 
toward  the  great  West,  and  he  longed  to  help  save 
her  voung  men.     When,  therefore,  he  was  asked  to 


HARRIET  B  EEC  HER  STOWE.  9 

go  to  Ohio  and  become  the  president  of  Lane  Theo- 
logical Seminary  at  Cincinnati,  he  accepted.  Sin- 
gularly dependent  upon  his  family,  Catharine 
and  Harriet  must  needs  go  with  him  to  the  new 
home.  The  journey  was  a  toilsome  one,  over  the 
corduroy  roads  and  across  the  mountains  by  stage- 
coach. Finally  they  were  settled  in  a  pleasant 
house  on  Walnut  Hills,  one  of  the  suburbs  of  the 
city,  and  the  sisters  opened  another  school. 

Four  3'ears  later,  in  1836,  Harriet,  now  twenty- 
five,  married  the  professor  of  biblical  criticism  and 
Oriental  literature  in  the  seminar\-,  Calvin  E.  Stowe, 
a  learned  and  able  man. 

Meantime  the  question  of  slavery  had  been  agi- 
tating the  minds  of  Christian  people.  Cincinnati 
being  near  the  border-line  of  Kentucky,  was  natu- 
rally the  battle-ground  of  ideas.  Slaves  fled  into 
the  free  State  and  were  helped  into  Canada  by  means 
of  the  "  Underground  Raih'oad,"  which  was  in  reality 
only  a  friendly  house  about  every  ten  miles,  where 
the  colored  people  could  be  secreted  during  the  day, 
and  then  carried  in  wagons  to  the  next  "  station  "  in 
the  night. 

Lane  Seminary  became  a  hot-bed  of  discussion. 
Many  of  the  Southern  students  freed  their  slaves, 
or  helped  to  establish  schools  for  colored  children 
in  Cincinnati,  and  were  disinherited  b}'  their  fathers 
in  consequence.  Dr.  Bailey,  a  Christian  man  who 
attempted  to  carry  on  a  fair  discussion  of  the  ques- 
tion in  his  paper,  had  his  presses  broken  twice  and 


10  HARRIET  BEE  CHER  STOWE. 

thrown  into  the  river.  The  feeling  became  so  in- 
tense, that  the  houses  of  free  colored  people  were 
burned,  some  killed,  and  the  seminary  was  in  dan- 
ger from  the  mob.  The  members  of  Professor 
Stowe's  family  slept  with  firearms,  ready  to  defend 
their  lives.  Finally  the  trustees  of  the  college  for- 
bade all  slavery  discussion  by  the  students,  and  as 
a  result,  nearly  the  whole  body  left  the  institution. 

Dr.  Beecher,  meantime,  was  absent  at  the  East, 
havino-  raised  a  larsje  sum  of  monev  for  the  semi- 
nary,  and  came  back  only  to  find  his  labor  almost 
hopeless.  For  several  years,  however,  he  and  his 
children  stayed  and  worked  on.  Mrs.  Stowe  opened 
her  house  to  colored  children,  whom  she  taught  with 
her  own.  One  bright  bo}'  in  her  school  was  claimed 
by  an  estate  in  Kentucky,  arrested,  and  was  to  be 
sold  at  auction.  The  half-crazed  mother  appealed 
to  Mrs.  Stowe,  who  raised  the  needed  money  among 
her  friends,  and  thus  saved  the  lad. 

Finall}^  worn  out  wit4i  the  ''  irrepressible  conflict," 
the  Beecher  family,  with  the  Stowes,  came  North  in 
1850,  Mr.  Stowe  accepting  a  professorship  at  Bow- 
doin  College,  Brunswick.  Maine.  A  few  boarders 
were  taken  into  the  family  to' eke  out  the  limited 
salary,  and  Mrs.  Stowe  earned  a  little  from  a  sketch 
written  now  and  then  for  the  newspapers.  She 
had  even  obtained  a  prize  of  fifty  dollars  for  a  New 
England  story.  Her  six  brothers  had  fulfilled  their 
mother's  d^ing  wish,  and  were  all  in  the  ministry. 
She  was   now  forty  years   old,   a  devoted  mother, 


HARRIET  B  EEC  HER  STOWE.  11 

with  an  infant ;  a  hard-working  teacher,  with  her 
hands  full  to  overflowing.  It  seemed  improbable 
that  she  v.'ould  ever  do  other  than  this  qniet,  unceas- 
ing labor.  Most  women  would  have  said,  "I  can 
do  no  more  than  I  am  doing.  M}'  way  is  hedged 
up  to  any  outside  work." 

But  Mrs.  Stowe's  heart  burned  for  those  in  bond- 
age. The  Fugitive  Slave  Law  was  hunting  colored 
people  and  sending  them  back  into  servitude  and 
death.  The  people  of  the  North  seemed  indifferent. 
Could  she  not  arouse  them  by  something  she  could 
write  ? 

One  Sunday',  as  she  sat  at  the  communion  table 
in  the  little  Brunswick  church,  the  pattern  of  Uncle 
Tom  formed  itself  in  her  mind,  and,  almost  over- 
come by  her  feelings,  she  hastened  home  and  wrote 
out  the  chapter  on  his  death.  When  she  had  fin- 
ished, she  read  it  to  her  two  sons,  ten  and  twelve, 
who  burst  out  sobbing,  "Oh!  mamma,  slavery  is 
the  most  cursed  thing  in  the  world." 

After  two  or  three  more  chapters  were  ready,  she 
wrote  to  Dr.  Bailey,  who  had  moved  his  paper  from 
Cincinnati  to  Washington,  otfering  the  manuscript 
for  the  columns  of  the  National  Era,  and  it  was 
accepted.  Now  the  matter  must  be  prepared  each 
week.  She  visited  Boston,  and  at  the  Anti-Slavery 
rooms  borrowed  several  books  to  aid  in  furnishinof 
facts.  And  then  the  story  wrote  itself  out  of  her 
full  heart  and  brain.  When  it  neared  completion, 
Mr.  Jewett  of  Boston,  throuoh  the  influence  of  his 


12  HARRIET  B  EEC  HER  STOWE. 

wife,  offered  to  become  the  publisher,  but  feared  if 
the  serial  were  much  longer,  it  would  be  a  failure. 
She  wrote  him  that  she  could  not  stop  till  it  was 
done. 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  was  published  March  20,  1852. 
Then  came  the  reaction  in  her  own  mind.  Would 
anybody  read  this  book  ?  The  subject  was  unpopu- 
lar. It  would  indeed  be  a  failure,  she  feared,  but 
she  would  help  the  story  make  its  way  if  possible. 
She  sent  a  copy  of  the  book  to  Prince  Albert,  know- 
ing that  both  he  and  Queen  Victoria  were  deeply 
interested  in  the  subject ;  another  copy  to  Macaulay, 
whose  father  was  a  friend  of  Wilberforce  ;  one  to 
Charles  Dickens  ;  and  another  to  Charles  Kingsley. 
And  then  the  busy  mother,  wife,  teacher,  house- 
keeper, and  author  waited  in  her  quiet  Maine  home 
to  see  what  the  busy  world  would  say. 

In  ten  days,  ten  thousand  copies  had  been  sold. 
Eight  presses  were  run  day  and  night  to  supply  the 
demand.  Thirty  different  editions  appeared  in 
London  in  six  months.  Six  theatres  in  that  great 
city  were  playing  it  at  one  time.  Over  three  hundred 
thousand  copies  were  sold  in  less  than  a  year. 

Letters  poured  in  upon  Mrs.  Stowe  from  all  parts 
of  the  world.  Prince  Albert  sent  his  hearty  thanks. 
Dickens  said,  "  Your  book  is  worthy  of  any  head 
and  an}^  heart  that  ever  inspired  a  book."  Kingsley 
wrote,  "  It  is  perfect."  The  noble  Earl  of  Shaftes- 
bury wrote,  "  None  but  a  Christian  believer  could 
have   produced  such   a  book   as  yours,   which  has 


HARRIET  BEECIIER   STOWE.  13 

absolutely  startled  the  whole  world.  ...  I  live  iu 
hope  —  God  grant  it  may  rise  to  faith  !  —  that  this 
system  is  drawing  to  a  close.  It  seems  as  though 
our  Lord  had  sent  out  this  book  as  the  messenger 
before  His  face  to  prepare  His  way  before  Him." 
He  wrote  out  an  address  of  sympathy  "From  the 
women  of  England  to  the  women  of  America,"  to 
which  were  appended  the  signatures  of  562,448 
women.  These  were  in  twenty-six  folio  volumes, 
bound  in  morocco,  with  the  American  eagle  on  the 
back  of  each,  the  whole  in  a  solid  oak  case,  sent  to 
the  care  of  Mrs.  Stowe. 

The  learned  reviews  gave  long  notices  of  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin.  Blackicood  said,  "There  are  scenes 
and  touches  in  this  book  which  no  living  writer  that 
we  know  can  surpass,  and  perhaps  none  can  equal." 
George  Eliot  wrote  her  beautiful  letters. 

How  the  heart  of  Lyman  Beecher  must  have  been 
gladdened  by  this  wonderful  success  of  his  daughter  ! 
How  Roxana  Beecher  must  have  looked  down  from 
heaven,  and  smiled  that  never-to-be-forgotten  smile  ! 
How  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  herself  must  have 
thanked  God  for  this  unexpected  fulness  of  bless- 
ing !  Thousands  of  dollars  were  soon  paid  to  her 
as  her  share  of  the  profits  from  the  sale  of  the  book. 
How  restful  it  must  have  seemed  to  the  tired,  over- 
worked woman,  to  have  more  than  enough  for  daily 
needs  ! 

The  following  year,  1853,  Professor  Stowe  and 
his  now  famous  wife  decided  to  cross  the  ocean  for 


14  HABRIET  BEECIIER  STOWE. 

needed  rest.  What  was  their  astonishment,  to  be 
welcomed  by  immense  public  meetings  in  Liverpool, 
Glasgow,  Edinburgh,  Aberdeen,  Dundee  ;  indeed,  in 
every  city  which  they  visited.  People  in  the  towns 
stopped  her  carriage,  to  fill  it  witli  flowers.  Boys  ran 
along  the  streets,  shouting,  "That's  her — see  the 
courls  !  "  A  penny  offering  was  made  her,  given  by 
people  of  all  ranks,  consisting  of  one  thousand 
golden  sovereigns  on  a  beautiful  silver  salver. 
When  the  committee  having  the  matter  in  charge 
visited  one  little  cottage,  they  found  only  a  blind 
woman,  and  said,  "  She  will  feel  no  interest,  as  she 
cannot  read  the  book." 

"Indeed,"  said  the  old  lady,  ''if  I  cannot  read, 
my  son  has  read  it  to  me,  and  I've  got  my  penny 
saved  to  give." 

The  beautiful  Duchess  of  Sutherland  entertained 
Mrs.  Stowe  at  her  house,  where  she  met  Lord  Palmer- 
ston,  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  Macaulay,  Gladstone,  and 
others.  The  duchess  gave  her  a  solid  gold  brace- 
let in  the  form  of  a  slave's  shackle,  with  the  words, 
"We  trust  it  is  a  memorial  of  a  chain  that  is  soon 
to  be  broken."  On  one  link  was  the  date  of  the 
abolition  of  the  slave  trade,  March  25,  1807,  and  of 
slavery  in  the  English  ten-itories,  Aug.  1,  1834. 
On  the  other  links  are  now  engraved  the  dates  of 
Emancipation  in  the  District  of  Columbia ;  Presi- 
dent Lincoln's  proclamation  abolishing  slavery  in 
the  States  in  rebellion,  Jan.  1,  18G3  ;  and  finally, 
on  the  clasp,  the  date  of  the  Constitutional  amend- 


lIARIilET  BEECHER  STOWE.  15 

ment,  abolishing  slavery  forever  in  the  United 
States.  Only  a  decade  after  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin 
was  written,  and  nearly  all  this  accomplished! 
Who  could  have  believed  it  possible  ? 

On  Mrs.  Stowe's  return  from  Europe,  she  wrote 
Sunyiy  3Iemories  of  Foreign  Lands,  which  had  a 
large  sale.  Her  husband  was  now  appointed  to  the 
professorship  of  sacred  literature  in  the  Theologi- 
cal Seminary  at  Andover,  Mass.,  and  here  they 
made  their  home.  The  students  found  in  her  a 
warm-hearted  friend,  and  an  inspiration  to  intellec- 
tual work.  Other  books  followed  from  her  pen : 
Dred,  a  powerful  anti-slavery  story  ;  The  Jliiiister's 
Wooing,  with  lovely  Mary  Scudder  as  its  heroine  ; 
Agnes  of  Sorrento,  an  Italian  story  ;  the  Pearl  of 
Orr's  Island,  a  tale  of  the  New  England  coast ; 
Old  Toivn  Folks;  House  and  Home  Pajyers;  My 
Wife  and  I;  Pink  and  White  Tyranny ;  and  some 
others,  all  of  which  have  been  widel}'  read. 

The  sale  of  Unde  Tom's  Cabin  has  not  ceased. 
It  is  estimated  that  over  one  and  a  half  million 
copies  have  been  sold  in  Great  Britain  and  her  col- 
onies, and  probably  an  equal  or  greater  number  in 
this  country.  There  have  been  twelve  French  edi- 
tions, eleven  German,  and  six  Spanish.  It  has 
been  published  in  nineteen  different  languages,  — 
Russian,  Hungarian,  Armenian,  Modern  Greek,  Fin- 
nish, Welsh,  Polish,  and  others.  In  Bengal  the 
book  is  very  popular.  A  lady  of  high  rank  in  the 
court  of  Siam,  liberated   her  slaves,  one    hundred 


16  IIABRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 

and  thirty  in  uumlier,  after  reading  this  book,  and 
said,  '•  I  am  wishful  to  be  good  like  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe,  and  never  again  to  buy  human  bodies,  but 
only  to  let  them  go  free  once  more."  In  France 
the  sale  of  the  Bible  was  increased  because  the  peo- 
ple wished  to  read  the  book  Uncle  Tom  loved  so 
much. 

Uncle  To  III  s  Cabin  ^  like  Les  3fiserables,  and  a 
few  other  novels,  will  live,  because  written  with  a 
purpose.  No  work  of  fiction  is  permanent  without 
some  great  underlying  principle  or  object. 

Soon  after  the  Civil  War,  Mrs.  Stowe  bought  a 
home  among  the  orange  groves  of  Florida,  and 
thither  she  goes  each  winter,  with  her  famil}'.  She 
has  done  much  there  for  the  colored  people  whom 
she  helped  to  make  free.  With  the  proceeds  of 
some  public  readings  at  the  North  she  built  a 
church,  in  which  her  husband  preached  as  long  as 
his  health  permitted.  Her  home  at  Mandarin,  with 
its  great  moss-covered  oaks  and  profusion  of  flow- 
ers, is  a  restful  and  happy  place  after  these  most 
fruitful  years. 

Her  summer  residence  in  Hartford,  Conn.,  beau- 
tiful without,  and  artistic  within,  has  been  visited 
by  thousands,  who  honor  the  noble  woman  not  less 
than  the  gifted  author. 

Many  of  the  Beecher  family  have  died ;  Lyman 
Beecher  at  eighty -thi-ee,  and  Catharine  at  seventy- 
eight.  Some  of  Mrs.  Stowe's  own  children  are 
waiting  for  her  in  the  other  country.     She  says,  "  I 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE.  17 

am  more  interested  in  tiie  other  side  of  Jordan  than 
this,  though  this  still  has  its  pleasures." 

On  Mrs.  Stowe's  seventj'-first  birthday,  her  pub- 
lishers, Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  gave  a 
garden  party  in  her  honor,  at  the  hospitable  home 
of  Governor  Claflin  and  his  wife,  at  Newton,  Mass. 
Poets  and  artists,  statesmen  and  reformers,  were 
invited  to  meet  the  famous  author.  On  a  stage, 
under  a  great  tent,  she  sat,  while  poems  were  read 
and  speeches  made.  The  brown  curls  had  become 
snowy  white,  and  the  bright  eyes  of  girlhood  had 
grown  deeper  and  more  earnest.  The  manner  was 
the  same  as  ever,  unostentatious,  courteous,  kindl}^ 

Her  life  is  but  another  confirmation  of  the  well- 
known  fact,  that  the  best  work  of  the  world  is  done, 
not  by  the  loiterers,  but  by  those  whose  hearts  and 
hands  are  full  of  duties. 


18  HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON. 


HELEN   HUNT   JACKSON. 

THOUSANDS  were  saddened  when,  Ang.  12, 
1885,  it  w^as  flashed  across  the  wh-es  that 
Helen  Hunt  Jackson  was  dead.  The  Nation 
said,  "  The  news  will  probably  carr}^  a  pang  of  re- 
gret into  more  American  homes  than  similar  intelli- 
gence in  regard  to  any  other  woman,  with  the 
possible  exception  of  Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe." 

How,  with  the  simple  initials,  "  H.  H.,"  had  she 
won  this  place  in  the  hearts  of  the  people  ?  Was  it 
because  she  was  a  poet  ?  Oh  no  !  many  persons  of 
genius  have  few  friends.  It  was  because  an  earnest 
life  was  back  of  her  gifted  writings.  A  great  book 
needs  a  great  man  or  woman  behind  it  to  make  it  a 
perfect  work.  Mrs.  Jackson's  literary  work  will  be 
abiding,  but  her  life,  with  its  dark  shadow  and  bright 
sunlight,  its  deep  affections  and  sympath}'  ^\\t\\  the 
oppressed,  will  furnish  a  rich  setting  for  the  gems 
of  thought  which  she  gave  to  the  world. 

Born  in  the  cultured  town  of  Amherst,  Mass., 
Oct.  18,  1831,  she  inherited  from  her  mother  a 
sunny,  buoyant  nature,  and  from  her  father,  Nathan 
A\^.  Fiske,  professor  of  languages  and  philosoph}^  in 
the  college,  a  strono;  und  vio-orous  mind.     Her  own 


HELEN   HUNT   JACKSON. 


HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON.  19 

vivid  description  of  the  "  naughtiest  da}^  in  my  life," 
iuAS'^  NiclioJas^  September  and  October,  1880,  shows 
the  ardent,  wilful  child  who  was  one  day  to  stand  out 
fearlessly  before  the  nation  and  tell  its  statesmen  the 
wrong  they  had  done  to  "  her  Indians." 

She  and  her  younger  sister  Annie  were  allowed 
one  April  day,  by  their  mother,  to  go  into  the  woods 
just  before  school  hours,  to  gather  checkerberries. 
Helen,  finding  the  woods  very  pleasant,  determined 
to  spend  the  day  in  them,  even  though  sure  she 
would  receive  a  whipping  on  her  return  home.  The 
sister  could  not  be  coaxed  to  do  wrong,  but  a  neigh- 
bor's child,  with  the  promise  of  seeing  live  snails 
with  horns,  was  induced  to  accompany  the  truant. 
They  wandered  from  one  forest  to  another,  till 
hunger  compelled  them  to  seek  food  at  a  stranger's 
home.  The  kind  farmer  and  his  wife  were  o-oins;  to 
a  funeral,  and  wished  to  lock  their  house  ;  but  they 
took  pity  on  the  little  ones,  and  gave  them  some 
bread  and  milk.  "  There,"  said  the  woman,  "  now, 
you  just  make  yourselves  comfortable,  and  eat  all 
you  can  ;  and  when  you're  done,  you  push  the  bowls 
in  among  them  lilac-bushes,  and  nobody '11  get 
'em." 

Urged  on  by  Helen,  she  and  her  companion  wan- 
dered into  the  village,  to  ascertain  where  the  funeral 
was  to  be  held.  It  was  in  the  meeting-house,  and 
thither  they  went,  and  seated  themselves  on  the  bier 
outside  the  door.  Becoming  tired  of  this,  they 
trudged  on.     One  of  them  lost  her  shoe  in  the  mud. 


20  HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON. 

and  stopping  at  a  house  to  dry  their  stockings,  the}' 
were  captured  by  two  Amherst  professors,  who  had 
come  over  to  Hadley  to  attend  the  funeral.  The 
children  had  walked  four  miles,  and  nearly  the 
whole  town,  with  the  frightened  mother,  were  in 
search  of  the  runaways.  Helen,  greatly  displeased 
at  being  caught,  jumped  out  of  the  carnage,  but  was 
soon  retaken.  At  ten  o'clock  at  night  they  reached 
home,  and  the  child  walked  in  as  rosy  and  smiling 
as  possible,  saying,  "  Oh,  mother  !  I've  had  a  per- 
fectly splendid  time  !  " 

A  few  da^s  passed,  and  then  lier  father  sent  for 
her  to  come  into  his  study,  and  told  her  because  she 
had  not  said  she  was  sorry  for  running  away,  she 
must  go  into  the  garret,  and  wait  till  he  came  to 
see  her.  Sullen  at  this  punishment,  she  took  a  nail 
and  began  to  bore  holes  in  the  plastering.  This  so 
angered  the  professor,  that  he  gave  her  a  severe 
whipping,  and  kept  her  in  the  garret  for  a  week.  It 
is  questionable  whether  she  was  more  penitent  at  the 
end  of  the  week  than  she  was  at  the  beginning. 

When  Helen  was  twelve,  both  father  and  mother 
died,  leaving  her  to  the  care  of  a  grandfather.  She 
was  soon  placed  in  the  school  of  the  author.  Rev. 
J.  S.  C.  Abbott,  of  New  York,  and  here  some  of  her 
happiest  days  were  passed.  She  grew  to  woman- 
hood, frank,  merry,  impulsive,  brilliant  in  conversa- 
tion, and  fond  of  society. 

At  twenty-one  she  was  married  to  a  young  army 
officer.  Captain,  afterward  Major,  Edward  B.  Hunt. 


HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON.  21 

whom  his  friends  called  ''Cupid"  Pluut  from  his 
beauty  and  his  curling  hair.  He  was  a  brother  of 
Governor  Hunt  of  New  York,  an  engineer  of  high 
rank,  and  a  man  of  fine  scientific  attainments.  They 
lived  much  of  their  time  at  West  Point  and  Newport, 
and  the  young  wife  moved  in  a  fashionable  social 
circle,  and  won  hosts  of  admiring  friends.  Now  and 
then,  when  he  read  a  paper  before  some  learned 
society,  he  was  proud  to  take  his  vivacious  and 
attractive  wife  with  him. 

Their  first  baby  died  when  he  was  eleven  months 
old,  but  another  beautiful  boy  came  to  take  his 
place,  named  after  two  friends,  Warren  Horsford, 
but  familiarly  called  "  Rennie."  He  was  an  uncom- 
monly bright  child,  and  Mrs.  Hunt  was  passionately 
fond  and  proud  of  him.  Life  seemed  full  of  pleas- 
ures. She  dressed  handsomely,  and  no  wish  of  her 
heart  seemed  ungratified. 

Suddenly,  like  a  thunder-bolt  from  a  clear  sky, 
the  happy  life  was  shattered.  Major  Hunt  was 
killed  Oct.  2,  1863,  while  experimenting  in  Brooklyn, 
with  a  submarine  gun  of  his  own  invention.  The 
young  widow  still  had  her  eight-year-old  boy,  and 
to  him  she  clung  more  tenderly  than  ever,  but  in  less 
than  two  years  she  stood  b}'  his  dying  bed.  Seeing 
the  agony  of  his  mother,  and  forgetting  his  own 
even  in  that  dread  destroyer,  diphtheria,  he  said, 
almost  at  the  last  moment,  "Promise  me,  mamma, 
that  you  will  not  kill  yourself." 

She  promised,  and  exacted  from  him  also  a  pledge 


22  HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON. 

that  if  it  were  possible,  he  would  come  back  from 
the  other  world  to  talk  with  his  mother.  He  never 
came,  and  Mrs.  Hunt  could  have  no  faith  in  spirit- 
ualism, because  what  Rennie  could  not  do,  she  be- 
lieved to  be  impossible. 

For  months  she  shut  herself  into  her  own  room, 
refusing  to  see  her  nearest  friends.  "Any  one  who 
really  loves  me  ought  to  pray  that  I  may  die,  too, 
like  Rennie,"  she  said.  Her  physician  thought  she 
would  die  of  grief  ;  but  when  her  strong,  earnest 
nature  had  wrestled  with  itself  and  come  off  con- 
queror, she  came  out  of  her  seclusion,  cheerful  as  of 
old.  The  pictures  of  her  husband  and  boy  were 
ever  beside  her,  and  these  doubtless  spurred  her  on 
to  the  work  she  was  to  accomplish. 

Three  months  after  Rennie's  death,  her  first  poem. 
Lifted  Over,  appeared  in  the  Nation :  — 

"  As  tender  mothers,  guiding  baby  steps, 
"When  places  come  at  which  the  tiny  feet 
Would  trip,  lift  up  the  little  ones  in  arms 
Of  love,  and  set  them  down  beyond  the  harm, 
So  did  our  Father  watch  the  precious  boy. 
Led  o'er  the  stones  by  me,  who  stumbled  oft 
Myself,  but  strove  to  help  my  darling  on : 
He  saw  the  sweet  limbs  faltering,  and  saw 
Rough  ways  before  us,  where  my  arms  would  fail ; 
So  reached  from  heaven,  and  lifting  the  dear  child. 
Who  smiled  in  leaving  me,  He  put  him  down 
Beyond  all  hurt,  beyond  my  sight,  and  bade 
Him  wait  for  me !     Shall  I  not  then  be  glad, 
And,  thanking  God,  press  on  to  overtake  1  " 


HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON.  23 

The  poem  was  widely  copied,  and  many  mothers 
were  comforted  by  it.  The  Jviiid  letters  she  received 
ill  consequence  were  the  first  gleam  of  sunshine  in 
the  darkened  life.  If  she  were  doing  even  a  little 
good,  she  could  live  and  be  strong. 

And  then  began,  at  thirty-four,  absorbing,  pains- 
taking literary  work.  She  studied  the  best  models 
of  composition.  She  said  to  a  friend,  years  after, 
"  Have  you  ever  tested  the  advantages  of  an  analyt- 
ical reading  of  some  writer  of  finished  style?  There 
is  a  little  book  called  Ont-Door  Papers^  by  Went- 
worth  Higginson,  that  is  one  of  the  most  perfect 
specimens  of  literary  composition  in  the  English  lan- 
guage. It  has  been  my  model  for  years.  I  go  to  it 
as  a  text-book,  and  have  actually  spent  hours  at  a 
time,  taking  one  sentence  after  another,  and  experi- 
menting upon  them,  trying  to  see  if  I  could  takeout 
a  word  or  transpose  a  clause,  and  not  destroy  their 
perfection."  And  again,  "I  shall  never  write  a 
sentence,  so  long  as  I  live,  without  studying  it  over 
from  the  standpoint  of  whether  you  would  think  it 
could  be  bettered." 

Her  first  prose  sketch,  a  walk  up  Mt.  Washington 
from  the  Glen  House,  appeared  in  the  Independent, 
Sept.  13,  1866  ;  and  from  this  time  she  wrote  for 
that  able  journal  three  hundred  and  seventy-one 
articles.  She  worked  rapidly,  writing  usually  with 
a  lead-pencil,  on  large  sheets  of  yellow  paper,  but 
she  pruned  carefully.  Her  first  poem  in  the  Atlan- 
tic Monthly^  entitled  Coronation,  delicate   and   full 


24  HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON. 

of  meaning,  appeared  in  18G9,  being  taken  to  Mr. 
Fields,  the  editor,  by  a  friend. 

At  this  time  she  spent  a  year  abroad,  principally  in 
German}'  and  Italy,  writing  home  several  sketches. 
In  Rome  she  became  so  ill  that  her  life  was  despaired 
of.  When  she  was  partialh'  recovered  and  went 
away  to  regain  her  strength,  her  friends  insisted 
that  a  professional  nurse  should  go  with  her ;  but 
she  took  a  hard-working  young  Italian  girl  of  six- 
teen, to  whom  this  vacation  would  be  a  blessing. 

On  her  return,  in  1870,  a  little  book  of  Verses  was 
published.  Like  most  beginners,  she  was  obliged 
to  pay  for  the  stereotyped  plates.  The  book  was 
well  received.  Emerson  liked  especially  her  sonnet, 
TJiought.  He  ranked  her  poetry  above  that  of  all 
American  women,  and  most  American  men.  Some 
persons  praised  the  "exquisite  musical  structure" 
of  the  GondoUeds^  and  others  read  and  re-read  her 
beautiful  Down  to  Sleej).  But  the  world's  favorite 
was  S2:>innwg :  — 

"  Like  a  blind  spinner  in  the  sun, 
I  tread  my  days  ; 
I  know  tliat  all  the  threads  will  run 

Appointed  ways ; 
I  know  each  day  will  bring  its  task, 
And,  being  blind,  no  more  I  ask. 
****** 

"  But  listen,  listen,  day  by  day. 

To  hear  their  tread 
Who  bear  the  finished  web  away. 

And  cut  the  thread. 
And  bring  God's  message  in  the  sun, 
*  Thou  poor  blind  spinner,  work  is  done." 


HELEK  HUNT  JACKSON.  25 

After  this  came  two  other  small  books,  Bits  of 
Travel  and  Bits  of  Talk  about  Home  Matters.  She 
paid  for  the  plates  of  the  former.  Fame  did  not 
burst  upon  Helen  Hunt ;  it  came  after  years  of  work, 
after  it  had  been  fully  earned.  The  road  to  author- 
ship is  a  hard  one,  and  only  those  should  attempt  it 
who  have  courage  and  perseverance. 

Again  her  health  failed,  but  not  her  cheerful 
spirits.  She  travelled  to  Colorado,  and  wrote  a 
book  in  praise  of  it.  Everywhere  she  made  lasting 
friends.  Her  German  landlady  in  Munich  thougiit 
her  the  kindest  person  in  the  world.  The  newsboy, 
the  little  urcliin  on  the  street  with  a  basket  full  of 
wares,  the  guides  over  the  mountain  passes,  all  re- 
membered her  cheery  voice  and  helpful  words.  She 
used  to  say,  "  Slie  is  only  half  mother  who  does  not 
see  her  own  child  in  every  child.  Oh,  if  the  world 
coultr^only  stop  long  enough  for  one  generation  of 
mothers  to  be  made  all  right,  what  a  Millennium 
could  be  begun  in  thirty  years  !  "  Some  one,  in  her 
childhood,  called  her  a  ''  stupid  child  "  before  stran- 
gers, and  she  never  forgot  the  sting  of  it. 

In  Colorado,  in  1876,  eleven  years  after  the  death 
of  Major  Hunt,  she  married  Mr.  William  Sharpless 
Jackson,  a  Quaker  and  a  cultured  banker.  Her 
home,  at  Colorado  Springs,  became  an  ideal  one, 
sheltered  under  the  great  Manitou,  and  looking 
toward  the  Garden  of  the  Gods,  full  of  books  and 
magazines,  of  dainty  rugs  and  dainty  china  gath- 
ered from  many  countries,  and  richly  colored  Colo- 


2G  HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON. 

rado  flowers.  Once,  when  P^astern  guests  were 
invited  to  luncheon,  twenty-three  varieties  of  wild- 
flowers,  each  massed  in  its  own  color,  adorned  the 
home.  A  friend  of  hers  says:  "There  is  not  an 
artificial  flower  in  the  house,  on  embroidered  table- 
cover  or  sofa  cushion  or  tidy  ;  indeed,  Mrs.  Jackson 
holds  that  the  manufacture  of  silken  poppies  and 
crewel  sun-flowers  is  a  '  respectable  industr}','  in- 
tended only  to  keep  idle  hands  out  of  mischief." 

Mrs.  Jackson  loved  flowers  almost  as  though  they 
were  children.  She  writes:  "I  bore  on  this  June 
day  a  sheaf  of  the  white  columbine,  —  one  single 
sheaf,  one  single  root ;  but  it  was  almost  more  than 
I  could  carry.  In  the  open  spaces,  I  carried  it  on 
m}'  shoulder ;  in  the  thickets,  I  bore  it  carefully  in 
my  arms,  like  a  baby.  .  .  .  There  is  a  part  of  Che}'- 
enne  Mountain  which  I  and  one  other  have  come  to 
call  '  our  garden.'  When  we  drive  down  from 
'  our  garden,'  there  is  seldom  room  for  another 
flower  in  our  carriage.  The  top  thrown  back  is 
filled,  the  space  in  front  of  the  driver  is  filled,  and 
our  laps  and  baskets  are  filled  with  the  more  deli- 
cate blossoms.  We  look  as  if  we  were  on  our  way 
to  the  ceremonies  of  Decoration  Day.  So  we  are. 
All  June  days  are  decoration  days  in  Colorado 
Springs,  but  it  is  the  sacred  joy  of  life  that  we 
decorate,  —  not  the  sacred  sadness  of  death."  But 
Mrs.  Jackson,  with  her  pleasant  home,  could  not 
rest  from  her  work.  Two  novels  came  from  her 
pen,  Mercy  Pliilhrick's  Choice  and  Hetty's  Strange 


HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON.  27 

History.  It  is  probable  also  that  she  helped  to 
write  the  beautiful  and  teuder  Saxe  Holm  Stories. 
It  is  said  that  Drcunj  Miller's  Doivry  and  Esther 
Wynns  Love  Letters  were  written  by  another,  while 
Mrs.  Jackson  added  the  lovely  poems  ;  and  when  a 
request  was  made  by  the  publishers  for  more  stories 
from  the  same  author,  Mrs.  Jackson  was  prevailed 
upon  to  write  them. 

The  time  had  now  come  for  her  to  do  her  last 
and  perhaps  her  best  work.  She  could  not  write 
without  a  definite  purpose,  and  now  the  purpose  that 
settled  down  upon  her  heart  was  to  help  the 
defrauded  Indians.  She  believed  they  needed  edu- 
cation and  Christianization  rather  than  extermina- 
tion. She  left  her  home  and  spent  three  months  in 
the  Astor  Library  of  New  York,  writing  her  Century 
of  Dishonor,  showing  how  we  have  despoiled  the 
Indians  and  broken  our  treaties  with  them.  She 
wrote  to  a  friend,  "  I  cannot  think  of  anything  else 
from  night  to  morning  and  from  morning  to  night." 
So  untiringly  did  she  work  that  she  made  herself  ill, 
and  was  obliged  to  go  to  Norway,  leaving  a  literary 
ally  to  correct  the  proofs  of  her  book. 

At  her  own  expense,  she  sent  a  copy  to  each 
member  of  Congress.  Its  plain  facts  were  not  rel- 
ished in  some  quarters,  and  she  began  to  taste  the 
cup  that  all  reformers  have  to  drink  ;  but  the  brave 
woman  never  flinched  in  her  duty.  So  much  was 
the  Government  impressed  by  her  earnestness  and 
good  judgment,  that  she  was  appointed  a   Special 


28  HELEN  HUNT  JACK  SOX. 

Commissioner  with  her  friend,  Abbott  Kinne}*,  to 
examine  and  report  on  the  condition  of  tlie  Mission 
Indians  in  California. 

Could  an  accomplished,  tenderl}'  reared  woman 
go  into  their  adobe  villages  and  listen  to  their 
wrongs?  What  would  the  world  say  of  its  poet? 
Mrs.  Jackson  did  not  ask  ;  she  had  a  mission  to 
perform,  and  the  more  culture,  the  more  responsi- 
bility. She  brought  cheer  and  hope  to  the  red  men 
and  their  wives,  and  they  called  her  "  the  Queen." 
She  wrote  able  articles  about  them  in  the  Century. 

The  report  made  by  Mr.  Kinney  and  herself, 
which  she  prepared  largely,  was  clear  and  convinc- 
ing. How  different  all  this  from  her  early  life  ! 
Mrs.  Jackson  had  become  more  than  poet  and  nov- 
elist ;  even  the  leader  of  an  oppressed  people.  At 
once,  in  the  winter  of  1883,  she  began  to  write  her 
wonderfullv  graphic  and  tender  Bamona,  and  into 
this,  she  said,  "I  put  my  heart  and  soul."  The 
book  was  immediately  reprinted  in  England,  and 
has  had  great  popularity.  She  meant  to  do  for  the 
Indian  what  Mrs.  Stowe  did  for  the  slave,  and  she 
lived  long  enough  to  see  the  great  work  aycII  in 
progress. 

This  true  missionary  work  had  greatly  deepened 
the  earnestness  of  the  brilliant  woman.  Not  always 
tender  to  other  peoples'  "hobbies."  as  she  said,  she 
now  had  one  of  her  own,  into  which  she  was  putting 
her  life.  Her  horizon,  with  her  great  intellectual 
gifts,   had   now  become    as  wide   as  the  universe. 


HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON.  29 

Had  she  lived,  bow  many  more  great  questions  she 
would  have  touched. 

In  June,  1884,  falling  on  the  staircase  of  her 
Colorado  home,  she  severely  fractured  her  leg,  and 
was  confined  to  the  house  for  several  mouths.  Then 
she  was  taken  to  Los  Angeles,  Cal.,  for  the  winter. 
The  broken  limb  mended  rapidly,  but  malarial  fever 
set  in,  and  she  was  carried  to  San  Francisco.  Her 
first  remark  was,  as  she  entered  the  house  looking 
out  upon  the  broad  and  lovely  bay,  "I  did  not 
imagine  it  was  so  pleasant !  What  a  beautiful  place 
to  die  in  !  " 

To  the  last  her  letters  to  her  friends  were  full  of 
cheer.  "You  must  not  think  because  I  speak  of 
not  getting  well  that  I  am  sad  over  it,"  she  wrote. 
"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  more  and  more  relieved  in 
my  mind,  as  it  seems  to  grow  more  and  more  sure 
that  I  shall  die.  You  see  that  I  am  growing  old" 
[she  was  but  fifty-four],  "  and  I  do  believe  that  my 
work  is  done.  You  have  never  realized  how,  for 
the  past  five  years,  my  whole  soul  has  been  centered 
on  the  Indian  question.  Ramona  was  the  outcome 
of  those  five  years.  The  Indian  cause  is  on  its  feet 
now ;  powerful  friends  are  at  work." 

To  another  she  wrote,  "  I  am  heartily,  honestly, 
and  cheerfully  ready  to  go.  In  fact,  I  am  glad  to 
go.  My  Century  of  Dishonor  and  Ramona  are  the 
only  things  I  have  done  of  which  I  am  glad  now. 
The  rest  is  of  no  moment.  They  will  live,  and  they 
w^ill  bear  fruit.     Thev  already  have.     The   chano^e 


30  HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON. 

in  public  feeling  on  the  Indian  question  in  the  last 
three  years  is  marvellous  ;  an  Indian  Rights  Asso- 
ciation in  ever}^  large  city  in  the  land." 

She  had  no  fear  of  death.  She  said,  ''It  is  only 
just  passing  from  one  country  to  another.  .  .  .  My 
only  regret  is  that  I  have  not  accomplished  more 
work ;  especially  that  it  was  so  late  in  the  da}'  when 
I  began  to  work  in  real  earnest.  But  I  do  not 
doubt  we  shall  keep  on  working.  .  .  .  There  isn't 
so  much  difference,  I  fancy,  between  this  life  and 
the  next  as  we  think,  nor  so  much  barrier.  ...  I 
shall  look  in  upon  you  in  the  new  rooms  some  day  ; 
but  you  will  not  see  me.  Good-bye.  Yours  affec- 
tionately forever,  H.  H."  Four  days  before  her 
death  she  wrote  to  President  Cleveland  :  — 

'*  From  my  death-bed  I  send  you  a  message  of  heart- 
felt thanks  for  what  you  have  already  done  for  the  In- 
dians. I  ask  you  to  read  my  Century  of  Dishonor.  I  am 
dying  happier  for  the  belief  I  have  that  it  is  your  hand 
that  is  destined  to  strike  the  first  steady  blow  toward 
lifting  this  burden  of  infamy  from  our  country,  and 
righting  the  wrongs  of  the  Indian  race. 

"  AVitli  respect  and  gratitude, 

"  Helen  Jackson." 

That  same  day  she  wrote  her  last  touching  poem  :  — 

"  Father,  I  scarcely  dare  to  pray, 

So  clear  I  see,  now  it  is  done. 
That  I  have  wasted  half  my  day, 

And  left  my  work  but  just  begun; 
"  So  clear  I  see  that  things  I  thought 

"Were  right  or  harmless  were  a  sin ; 


HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON.  31 

So  clear  I  see  that  1  have  sought, 
Unconscious,  selfish  aim  to  win 

"  So  clear  I  see  that  I  have  hurt 

The  souls  I  miglit  have  helped  to  save, 
That  I  have  slothful  been,  inert, 
Deaf  to  the  calls  Thy  leaders  gave. 

"  In  outskirts  of  Thy  kingdoms  vast. 
Father,  the  humblest  spot  give  me ; 
Set  me  the  lowliest  task  Thou  hast. 
Let  me  repentant  work  for  Thee  !  " 

That  evening,  Aug.  8,  after  saying  farewell,  she 
placed  her  hand  in  her  husband's,  and  went  to  sleep. 
After  four  days,  mostly  unconscious  ones,  she  wak- 
ened in  eternity. 

On  her  coffin  were  laid  a  few  simple  clover-blos- 
soms, flowers  she  loved  in  life  ;  and  then,  near  the 
summit  of  Cheyenne  Mountain,  four  miles  from 
Colorado  Springs,  in  a  spot  of  her  own  choosing, 
she  was  buried. 

"  Do  not  adorn  with  costly  slirub  or  tree 
Or  flower  the  little  grave  which  shelters  me. 
Let  the  wild  wind-sown  seeds  grow  up  unharmed, 
And  back  and  forth  all  summer,  unalarmed, 
Let  all  the  tiny,  busy  creatures  creep  ; 
Let  the  sweet  grass  its  last  year's  tangles  keep  ; 
And  when,  remembering  me,  you  come  some  day 
And  stand  there,  speak  no  praise,  but  only  say, 
'  How  she  loved  us  \     It  was  for  that  she  was  so  dear.' 
These  are  the  only  words  that  I  shall  smile  to  hear." 

Many  will  stand  by  that  Colorado  grave  in  the 
years  to  come.     Says  a  California  friend  :   "  Above 


32  HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON. 

the  chirp  of  the  bahn-cricket  in  the  grass  that  hides 
her  grave,  I  seem  to  hear  sweet  songs  of  welcome 
from  the  Httle  ones.  Among  other  thoughts  of  her 
come  visions  of  a  child  and  mother  straying  in  fields 
of  light.  And  so  I  cannot  make  her  dead,  who 
lived  so  earnestly,  who  wrought  so  unselfishly,  and 
passed  so  trustfully  into  the  mystery  of  the  unseen." 

All  honor  to  a  woman  who,  with  a  happy  home, 
was  willing  to  leave  it  to  make  other  homes  happy  ; 
who,  having  suffered,  tried  with  a  sympathetic  heart 
to  forget  herself  and  keep  others  from  suffering ; 
who,  being  famous,  gladly  took  time  to  help  un- 
known authors  to  win  fame  ;  who,  having  means, 
preferred  a  life  of  labor  to  a  life  of  ease. 

Mrs.  Jackson's  work  is  still  going  forward.  Five 
editions  of  her  Century  of  Dislionor  have  been 
printed  since  her  death.  Ramona  is  in  its  thirtieth 
thousand.  Zepli^  a  touching  story  of  frontier  life 
in  Colorado,  which  she  finished  in  her  last  illness, 
has  been  published.  Her  sketches  of  travel  have 
been  gathered  into  GUmjyses  of  Three  Coasts,  and  a 
new  volume  of  poems,  Sonnets  and  Lyrics,  has 
appeared. 


^^i^^yi^Jl^^  tJ^t/^^'^, 


LUCRETIA   MOTT.  33 


LUCRETIA   MOTT. 


»>«<c 


YP^ARS  ago  I  attended,  at  some  inconvenience, 
a  large  public  meeting,  because  I  heard  that 
Lucretia  Mott  was  to  speak.  After  several  ad- 
dresses, a  slight  lady,  with  white  cap  and  drab  Qua- 
ker dress,  came  forward.  Though  well  in  years,  her 
eyes  were  bright ;  her  smile  was  winsome,  and  I 
thought  her  face  one  of  the  loveliest  I  had  ever 
looked  upon.  The  voice  was  singularly  sweet  and 
clear,  and  the  manner  had  such  naturalness  and 
grace  as  a  queen  might  envy.  I  have  forgotten  the 
words,  forgotten  even  the  subject,  but  the  benign 
presence  and  gracious  smile  I  shall  never  forget. 

Born  among  the  quiet  scenes  of  Nantucket,  Jan. 
3,  1793,  Lucretia  grew  to  girlhood  with  habits 
of  economy,  neatness,  and  helpfulness  in  the  home. 
Her  father,  Thomas  Coffin,  was  a  sea-captain  of 
staunch  principle  ;  her  mother,  a  woman  of  great 
energy,  wit,  and  good  sense.  The  children's  pleas- 
ures were  such  as  a  plain  country  home  afforded. 
When  Mrs.  Coffin  went  to  visit  her  neighbors,  she 
would  say  to  her  daughters,  "  Now  after  you  have 
finished  knitting  twenty  bouts,  you  may  go  down 
cellar  and   pick    out  as  many  as  you  want  of    the 


3-4  LUC  RE  TI A   MOTT. 

smallest  potatoes,  —  the  very  smallest,  —  and  roast 
them  in  the  ashes."  Then  the  six  little  folks  gath- 
ered about  the  big  fireplace  and  enjoyed  a  frolic. 

When  Lncretia  was  twelve  years  old,  the  family 
moved  to  Boston.  At  first  all  the  children  attended 
a  private  school;  but  Captain  Coffin,  fearing  this 
would  make  them  proud,  removed  them  to  a  public 
school,  where  they  could  "  mingle  with  all  classes 
without  distinction."  Years  after  Lucretia  said,  "I 
am  glad,  because  it  gave  me  a  feeling  of  sympathy 
for  the  patient  and  struggling  poor,  which,  but  for 
this  experience,  I  might  never  have  known." 

A  year  later,  she  was  sent  to  a  Friends'  boarding- 
school  at  Nine  Partners,  N.  Y.  Both  boys  and 
girls  attended  this  school,  but  were  not  permitted  to 
speak  to  each  other  unless  they  were  near  relatives ; 
if  so,  they  could  talk  a  little  ou  certain  days  over  a 
certain  corner  of  the  fence,  between  the  playgrounds  ! 
Such  grave  precautions  did  not  entirely  prevent  the 
acquaintance  of  the  young  people  :  for  when  a  lad 
was  shut  up  in  a  closet,  on  bread  and  water,  Lucretia 
and  her  sister  supplied  him  with  bread  and  butter 
under  the  door.  This  boy  was  a  cousin  of  the 
teacher,  James  Mott,  who  was  fond  of  the  quick- 
witted school-girl,  so  that  it  is  probable  that  no 
harm  came  to  her  from  breaking  the  rules. 

At  fifteen,  Lucretia  was  appointed  an  assistant 
teacher,  and  she  and  Mr.  Mott,  with  a  desire  to 
know  more  of  literature,  and  quite  possibly  more  of 
each  other,  began  to  study  French  together.      He 


LUC  BE  TI A   MOTT.  35 

was  tall,  with  light  hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  shy  in 
manner ;  she,  petite,  with  dark  hair  and  eyes,  quick 
in  thought  and  action,  and  fond  of  mirth.  When 
she  was  eighteen  and  James  twent3'-one,  the  young 
teachers  were  married,  and  both  went  to  her  father's 
home  in  Philadelphia  to  reside,  he  assisting  in  Mr. 
Coffin's  business. 

The  war  of  1812  brought  financial  failure  to  many, 
aud  young  Mott  soon  found  himself  with  a  wife  and 
infant  daughter  to  support,  and  no  work.  Hoping 
that  he  could  obtain  a  situation  with  an  uncle  in 
New  York  State,  he  took  his  family  thither,  but  came 
back  disappointed.  Finally  he  found  work  in  a 
plow  store  at  a  salary  of  six  hundred  dollars  a  year. 

Captain  Coffin  meantime  had  died,  leaving  his 
family  poor.  James  could  do  so  little  for  them  all 
with  his  limited  salary,  that  he  determined  to  open  a 
small  store  ;  but  the  experiment  proved  a  failure. 
His  health  began  to  be  affected  by  this  ill  success, 
when  Lucretia,  with  her  brave  heart,  said,  "My 
cousin  and  I  will  open  a  school ;  thee  must  not  get 
discouraged,  James." 

The  school  was  opened  with  four  pupils,  each  pa}'- 
ing  seven  dollars  a  quarter.  The  young  wife  put 
so  much  good  cheer  and  earnestness  into  her  work, 
that  soon  there  w^re  forty  pupils  in  the  school. 
Mr.  Mott's  prospects  now  brightened,  for  he  was 
earning  one  thousand  dollars  a  year.  The  young 
couple  were  happy  in  their  hard  work,  for  they 
loved  each  other,  and-  love  lightens  all  care  and 
labor. 


36  LUCRETIA   MOTT. 

But  soon  a  sorrow  worse  than  poverty  came. 
Their  only  son,  Thomas,  a  most  affectionate  child, 
died,  saying  with  his  latest  breath,  "I  love  thee, 
mother."  It  was  a  crushing  blow  ;  but  it  proved  a 
blessing  in  the  end,  leading  her  thoughts  heaven- 
w^ard. 

A  few  months  afterwards  her  voice  was  heard  for 
the  first  time  in  public,  in  prayer,  in  one  of  the 
Friends'  meetings.  The  words  were  simple,  earnest, 
eloquent.  The  good  Quakers  marvelled,  and  en- 
couraged the  "  gift."  They  did  not  ask  whether 
man  or  woman  brought  the  message,  so  it  came 
from  heaven. 

And  now,  at  twenty-five,  having  resigned  her 
position  as  teacher,  she  began  close  study  of  the 
Bible  and  theological  books.  She  had  four  chil- 
dren to  care  for,  did  all  her  sewing,  even  cutting 
and  making  her  own  dresses  ;  but  she  learned  what 
every  one  can  learn.  —  to  economize  time.  Her 
house  was  kept  scrupulously  clean.  She  says:  "I 
omitted  much  unnecessary  stitching  and  ornamental 
work  in  the  sewing  for  my  family,  so  that  I  might 
have  more  time  for  the  improvement  of  my  mind. 
For  novels  and  light  reading  I  never  had  much 
taste  ;  the  ladies'  department  in  the  periodicals  of 
the  day  had  no  attraction  for  me."  She  would  lay 
a  copy  of  William  Penn's  ponderous  volumes  open 
at  the  foot  of  her  bed,  and  drawing  her  chair  close 
to  it,  with  her  baby  on  her  lap,  would  study  the 
book  diligently.     A  woman  of  less  energy  and  less 


LUC  RE  TI A   MOTT.  37 

will-power  than  young  Mrs.  Mott  would  have  given 
up  all  hope  of  being  a  scholar.  She  read  the  best 
books  in  philosophy  and  science.  John  Stuart  Mill 
and  Dean  Stanley,  though  widely  different,  were 
among  her  favorite  authors. 

James  Mott  was  now  prospering  in  the  cotton 
business,  so  that  they  could  spare  time  to  go  in  their 
carriage  and  speak  at  the  Quaker  meetings  in  the 
surrounding  country.  Lucretia  would  be  so  ab- 
sorbed in  thought  as  not  to  notice  the  beauties  of 
the  landscape,  which  her  husband  always  greath' 
enjoyed.  Pointing  out  a  fine  view  to  her,  she 
replied,  "Yes,  it  is  beautiful,  now  that  thou  points 
it  out,  but  I  should  not  have  noticed  it.  I  have 
always  taken  more  interest  in  hmiian  nature." 
P'rom  a  child  she  was  deeply  interested  for  the 
slave.  She  had  read  in  her  school-books  Clarkson's 
description  of  the  slave  ships,  and  these  left  an 
impression  never  to  be  effaced.  When,  Dec.  4, 
1833,  a  convention  met  in  Philadelphia  for  the 
purpose  of  forming  the  American  Anti-Slavery 
Society,  Lucretia  ^lott  was  one  of  the  four  women 
who  braved  the  social  obloquy,  as  friends  of  the 
despised  abolitionists.  She  spoke,  and  was  listened 
to  with  attention.  Immediately  the  Philadelphia 
Female  Anti-Slavery  Society  was  formed,  and  Mrs. 
Mott  became  its  president  and  its  inspiration.  So 
unheard  of  a  thing  was  an  association  of  women,  and 
so  unaccustomed  were  they  to  the  methods  of 
organization,  that  they  were  obliged  to  call  a  colored 
man  to  the  chair  to  assist  them. 


38  LUCRE TI A   3I0TT. 

The  years  of  martyrdom  which  followed,  we  at 
this  day  can  scarcely  realize.  Anti-slavery  lecturers 
were  tarred  and  feathered.  Mobs  in  New  York  and 
Philadelphia  swarmed  the  streets,  burning  houses 
and  breaking  church  windows.  In  the  latter  city 
the}'  surrounded  the  hall  of  the  Abolitionists,  where 
the  women  were  holding  a  large  convention,  and 
Mrs.  Mott  was  addressing  them.  All  day  long  they 
cursed  and  threw  stones,  and  as  soon  as  the  women 
left  the  building,  they  burned  it  to  ashes.  Then, 
wrought  up  to  fury,  the  mob  started  for  the  house 
of  James  and  Lucretia  Mott.  Knowing  that  they 
were  coming,  the  calm  woman  sent  her  little  children 
away,  and  then  in  the  parlor,  with  a  few  friends, 
peacefully  awaited  a  probable  death. 

In  the  turbulent  throng  was  a  young  man  who, 
wliile  he  was  no  friend  of  the  colored  man,  could 
not  see  Lucretia  Mott  harmed.  With  skilful  ruse, 
as  they  neared  the  house,  he  rushed  up  another 
street,  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "On  to 
Motts!"'  and  the  wild  crowd  blindly  followed, 
wreaking  their  vengeance  in  another  quarter. 

A  year  later,  in  Delaware,  where  Mrs.  Mott  was 
speaking,  one  of  her  party,  a  defenceless  old  man, 
was  dragged  from  the  house,  and  tarred  and  feath- 
ered. She  followed,  begging  the  men  to  desist,  and 
saying  that  she  was  the  real  offender,  but  no  violent 
hands  were  laid  upon  her. 

At  another  time,  when  the  annual  meeting  of  the 
Anti-Slavery  Society  in  New  York  was  broken  up 


LUCRETIA  MOTT.  39 

by  the  mob,  some  of  the  speakers  were  roughly 
handled.  Perceivhig  that  several  ladies  were  timid, 
Mrs.  Mott  said  to  the  gentleman  who  was  accom- 
panying her,  "  AYon't  thee  look  after  some  of  the 
others?" 

"  But  who  will  take  care  of  von  ?  "  he  said. 

With  great  tact  and  a  sweet  smile,  she  answered, 
"  This  man,"  laying  her  hand  on  the  arm  of  one  of 
the  roughest  of  the  mob;  ''he  will  see  me  safe 
through." 

The  astonished  man  had,  like  others,  a  tender 
heart  beneath  the  roughness,  and  with  respectful 
manner  took  her  to  a  place  of  safety.  The  next 
day,  going  into  a  restaurant,  she  saw  the  leader  of 
the  mob,  and  immediately  sat  down  by  him,  and 
began  to  converse.  Her  kindness  and  her  sweet 
voice  left  a  deep  impression.  As  he  went  out  of  the 
room,  he  asked  at  the  door,  "Who  is  that  lady?" 

"  Why,  that  is  Lucretia  Mott !  " 

For  a  second  he  was  dumbfounded  ;  l)ut  he  added, 
"  Well,  she's  a  good,  sensible  woman." 

In  1839  a  World's  Convention  was  called  at 
London  to  debate  the  slavery  question.  Among 
the  delegates  chosen  were  James  and  Lucretia  Mott, 
Wendell  Phillips  and  his  wife,  and  others.  Mrs. 
Mott  was  jubilant  at  the  thought  of  the  world's 
interest  in  this  great  question,  and  glad  for  an 
opportunity  to  cross  the  ocean  and  enjoy  a  little 
rest,  and  the  pleasure  of  meeting  friends  who  had 
worked  in  the  same  cause. 


40  LUCRE TI A  MOTT. 

When  the  party  arrived,  they  were  told,  to  their 
astonishment,  that  no  women  were  to  be  admitted 
to  the  Convention  as  delegates.  They  had  faced 
mobs  and  ostracism ;  they  had  given  money  and 
earnest  labor,  bot  they  were  to  be  ignored.  William 
Lloyd  Garrison,  hurt  at  such  injustice,  refused  to 
take  part  in  the  Convention,  and  sat  in  the  gallery 
with  the  women.  Although  Mrs.  Mott  did  not 
speak  in  the  assembly,  the  DuhUn  Herald  said. 
"Nobody  doubts  that  she  was  the  lioness  of  the 
Convention."  She  was  entertained  at  public  break- 
fasts, and  at  these  spoke  with  the  greatest  accept- 
ance to  both  men  and  women.  The  Duchess  of 
Sutherland  and  Ladj'  Byron  showed  her  great  at- 
tention. Carlyle  was  "much  pleased  with  the 
Quaker  lady,  whose  quiet  manner  had  a  soothing 
effect  on  him,"  wrote  Mrs.  Carlyle  to  a  friend.  At 
Glasgow  "she  held  a  delighted  audience  for  nearly 
two  hours  in  breathless  attention,"  said  the  press. 

After  some  months  of  devoted  Christian  work, 
along  with  sight-seeing,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mott  started 
homeward.  He  had  spoken  less  frequently  than  his 
wife,  but  always  had  been  listened  to  with  deep 
interest.  Her  heart  was  moved  toward  a  large  num- 
ber of  Irish  emigrants  in  the  steerage,  and  she  de- 
sired to  hold  a  religious  meeting  among  them.  When 
asked  about  it,  they  said  they  would  not  hear  a 
woman  preacher,  for  women  priests  were  not  allowed 
in  their  church.  Then  she  asked  that  they  would 
come  tooether  and  consider  whether  thev  would  have 


LUCRETIA   MOTT.  41 

a  meeting.  This  seemed  fair,  and  they  came.  She 
explained  to  them  that  she  did  not  intend  to  hold  a 
church  service  ;  that,  as  they  were  leaving  their  old 
homes  and  seeking  new  ones  in  her  couutr}-,  she 
wanted  to  talk  with  them  in  such  a  way  as  would 
help  them  in  the  land  of  strangers.  And  then,  if 
the}'  would  listen,  —  they  were  all  the  time  listening 
very  eagerly,  —  she  would  give  an  outline  of  what  she 
had  intended  to  say,  if  the  meeting  had  been  held: 
At  the  close,  when  all  had  departed,  it  dawned  upon 
some  of  the  quicker-witted  ones  that  the}"  "  had  got 
the  preachment  from  the  woman  preacher,  after  all." 

The  steamer  arrived  at  the  close  of  a  twenty-nine 
days'  voyage,  and,  after  a  brief  rest,  Mrs.  Mott  be- 
gan again  lier  public  work.  She  spoke  before  the 
legislatures  of  New  Jersey-,  Delaware,  and  Pennsyl- 
vania. She  called  on  President  Tyler,  and  he  talked 
with  her  cordially  and  freely  about  the  slave.  In 
Kentucky,  says  one  of  the  leading  papers,  "  For  an 
hour  and  a  half  she  enchained  an  ordinarily  restless 
audience  —  many  were  standing  —  to  a  degree  never 
surpassed  here  by  the  most  popular  orators.  She 
said  some  things  that  were  far  from  palatable,  but 
said  them  with  an  air  of  sincerity  that  commanded 
respect  and  attention." 

Mrs.  Mott  was  deeply  interested  in  other  ques- 
tions besides  slavery,  —  suffrage  for  women,  total 
abstinence,  and  national  differences  settled  by  arbi- 
tration instead  of  war.  Years  before,  when  she 
began  to  teach  school,  and  found  that  while  girls 


42  LUCRETIA  MOTT. 

paid  the  same  tuition  as  boj's,  '^  when  they  became 
teachers,  women  received  only  half  as  much  as  men 
for  their  services,"  she  sa3's  :  "The  injustice  of  this 
distinction  was  so  apparent,  that  I  early  resolved  to 
claim  for  myself  all  that  an  impartial  Creator  had 
bestowed." 

In  1848,  Mrs.  Mott,  with  Elizabeth  Cady  Stan- 
ton and  some  others,  called  the  first  Woman's  Suf- 
frage Convention  in  this  countrj^,  at  Seneca  Falls, 
N.  Y.  There  was  much  ridicule,  —  we  had  not 
learned,  forty  years  ago,  to  treat  with  courtesy  those 
whose  opinions  are  different  from  our  own, — but 
the  sweet  Quaker  preacher  went  serenely  forward, 
as  though  all  the  world  were  on  her  side.  When 
she  conversed  with  those  who  differed,  she  listened 
so  courteously  to  objections,  and  stated  her  own 
views  so  delicately  and  kindly,  and  often  so  wittily, 
that  none  could  help  liking  her,  even  though  they 
did  not  agree  with  her.  She  realized  that  few  can 
be  driven,  while  man}^  can  be  won  with  gentleness 
and  tact. 

In  all  these  years  of  public  speaking,  her  home 
was  not  only  a  refuge  for  the  oppressed,  but  a  de- 
lightful social  centre,  where  prominent  people  gath- 
ered from  both  Europe  and  America.  At  the  table 
black  and  white  were  treated  with  equal  courtesy. 
One  young  man,  a  frequent  visitor,  finding  himself 
seated  at  dinner  next  to  a  colored  man,  resolved  to 
keep  away  from  the  house  in  future  ;  but  as  he  was 
in  love  with  one  of  Mrs.  Mott's  prett}'  daughters. 


LUC  RE  TI A  MOTT.  43 

he  found  that  his  "principles"  gave  wa}^  to  his 
affections.  He  renewed  his  visits,  became  a  son-in- 
law,  and,  later,  an  ardent  advocate  of  equality  for 
the  colored  people. 

Now  the  guests  at  the  hospitable  home  were  a 
mother  and  seven  children,  from  England,  who, 
meeting  with  disappointments,  had  become  reduced 
to  poverty.  Now  it  was  an  escaped  slave,  who 
had  come  from  Richmond,  Va.,  in  a  dry-goods  box, 
b}'  Adams  Express.  This  poor  man,  whose  wife 
and  three  children  had  been  sold  from  him,  deter- 
mined to  seek  his  freedom,  even  if  he  died  in  the 
effort.  'Weighing  nearly  two  hundred  pounds,  he 
was  encased  in  a  box  two  feet  long,  twenty-three 
inches  wide,  and  three  feet  high,  in  a  sitting  pos- 
ture. He  was  provided  with  a  few  crackers,  and  a 
bladder  filled  with  water.  AYith  a  small  gimlet  he 
bored  holes  in  the  box  to  let  in  fresh  air,  and  fanned 
himself  with  his  hat,  to  keep  the  air  in  motion.  The 
box  was  covered  with  canvas,  that  no  one  mi^ht 
suspect  its  contents.  His  sufferings  were  almost 
unbearable.  As  the  box  was  tossed  from  one  place 
to  another,  he  was  badly  bruised,  and  sometimes  he 
rested  for  miles  on  his  head  and  shoulders,  when  it 
seemed  as  though  his  veins  would  burst.  Finally 
he  reached  the  Mott  home,  and  found  shelter  and 
comfort. 

Their  large  house  was  always  full.  Mr.  Mott  had 
given  up  a  prosperous  cotton  business,  because  the 
cotton  was  the  product  of  slave  labor ;  but  he  had 


44  LUC  RE  TI A   MOTT. 

been  equally  successful  in  the  wool  trade,  so  that 
the  days  of  privation  had  passed  by  long  ago.  Two 
of  their  six  children,  with  their  families,  lived  at 
home,  and  the  harmony  was  remarked  by  everybody. 
Mrs.  Mott  rose  early,  and  did  much  housework  her- 
self. She  wrote  to  a  friend:  "I  prepared  mince 
for  forty  pies,  doing  every  part  myself,  even  to  meat- 
chopping  ;  picked  over  lots  of  apples,  stewed  a  quan- 
tity, chopped  some  more,  and  made  apple  pudding  ; 
all  of  which  kept  me  on  my  feet  till  almost  two 
o'clock,  having  to  come  into  the  parlor  everv  now 
and  then  to  receive  guests."  As  a  rule,  those  women 
are  the  best  housekeepers  whose  lives  are  varied  by 
some  outside  interests. 

In  the  broad  hall  of  the  house  stood  two  arm- 
chairs, which  the  children  called  '^  beggars'  chairs," 
because  they  were  in  constant  use  for  all  sorts  of 
people,  "  waiting  to  see  the  missus."  She  never 
refused  to  see  anybody.  When  letters  came  from 
all  over  the  country,  asking  for  all  sorts  of  favors, 
bedding,  silver  spoons,  a  silk  umbrella,  or  begging 
her  to  invest  some  money  in  the  manufacture  of  an 
article,  warranted  "  to  take  the  kink  out  of  the  hair 
of  the  negro,"  she  would  always  check  the  merriment 
of  her  family  by  saying,  "Don't  laugh  too  much; 
the  poor  souls  meant  well." 

Mrs.  Mott  was  now  sixty-three  years  of  age.  For 
forty  years  she  had  been  seen  and  loved  by  thou- 
sands. Strangers  would  stop  her  on  the  street  and 
sav,  "God  bless  you,  Lucretia  Mott !"     Once,  when 


LUCRETIA  MOTT.  45 

a  slave  was  being  tried  for  running  awa\',  Mrs.  Mott 
sat  near  him  in  the  court,  her  son-in-law,  Mr.  Ed- 
ward Hopper,  defending  his  case.  The  opposing 
connsel  asked  that  her  chair  might  be  moved,  as  her 
face  would  influence  the  jury  against  him  !  Benja- 
min H.  Brewster,  afterwards  United  States  Attor- 
ney-General, also  counsel  for  the  Southern  master, 
said  :  ''I  have  heard  a  great  deal  of  your  mother- 
in-law,  Hopper ;  but  I  never  saw  her  before  to-day. 
She  is  an  angel."  Years  after,  when  Mr.  Brewster 
was  asked  how  he  dared  to  change  his  political  opin- 
ions, he  replied,  "Do  you  think  there  is  anything 
I  dare  not  do,  after  facing  Lucretia  Mott  in  that 
court-room  ?  " 

It  seemed  best  at  this  time,  in  1856,  as  Mrs. 
Mott  was  much  worn  with  care,  to  sell  the  large 
house  in  town  and  move  eight  miles  into  the  country, 
to  a  quaint,  roomy  house  which  the}*  called  Road- 
side. Before  they  went,  however,  at  the  last  family 
gathering  a  long  poem  was  read,  ending  with :  — 

"  Who  constantly  will  ring  the  bell, 
And  ask  if  they  will  please  to  tell 
Where  Mrs.  Mott  has  gone  to  dwell  1 
The  beggars. 

"  And  who  persistently  will  say, 
'  We  cannot,  cannot  go  away ; 
Here  in  the  entry  let  us  stay  1 ' 

Colored  beggars, 
"  Who  never,  never,  nevermore 
Will  see  the  '  lions  '  at  the  door 
That  they've  so  often  seen  before  ? 
The  neighbors. 


4G  LUCRETIA  MOTT. 

"  And  wlio  will  miss,  for  months  at  least, 
That  place  of  rest  for  man  and  beast, 
From  North,  and  South,  and  West,  and  East  ? 

Everybody." 

Much  of  the  shrubbery  was  cut  down  at  Road- 
side, that  Mrs.  Mott  might  have  the  full  sunlight. 
So  cheery  a  nature  must  have  sunshine.  Here  life 
went  on  quietly  and  happy.  Many  papers  and 
books  were  on  her  table,  and  she  read  carefully  and 
widely.  She  loved  especially  Milton  and  Cowper. 
Arnold's  Liglit  of  Asia  was  a  great  favorite  in  later 
years.  The  papers  were  sent  to  hospitals  and  in- 
firmaries, that  no  good  reading  might  be  lost.  She 
liked  to  read  aloud ;  and  if  others  were  busy,  she 
would  copy  extracts  to  read  to  them  when  they  were 
at  leisure.  Who  can  measure  the  power  of  an  edu- 
cated, intellectual  mother  in  a  home? 

The  golden  wedding  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mott  was 
celebrated  in  1861,  and  a  joyous  season  it  was. 
James,  the  prosperous  merchant,  was  proud  of  his 
gifted  wife,  and  aided  her  in  every  way  possible  ; 
while  Lucretia  loved  and  honored  the  true-hearted 
husband.  Though  Mrs.  Mott  was  now  sevent}',  she 
did  not  cease  her  benevolent  work.  Her  carriage 
was  always  full  of  fruits,  vegetables,  and  gifts  for 
the  poor.  In  buying  goods  she  traded  usually  with 
the  small  stores,  where  things  were  dearer,  but  she 
knew  that  for  many  of  the  proprietors  it  was  a 
struggle  to  make  ends  meet.  A  woman  so  con- 
siderate of  others  would  of  course  be  loved. 


LUCRETIA   MOTT.  47 

Once  when  riding  on  the  street-cars  in  Philadel- 
phia, when  no  black  person  was  allowed  to  ride 
inside,  every  fifth  car  being  reserved  for  their  use, 
she  saw  a  frail-looking  and  scantily-dressed  colored 
woman,  standing  on  the  platform  in  the  rain.  The 
day  was  bitter  cold,  and  Mrs.  Mott  begged  the 
conductor  to  allow  her  to  come  inside.  "  The  com- 
pany's orders  must  be  obeyed,"  was  the  reply. 
Whereupon  the'  slight  Quaker  lady  of  seventy 
walked  out  and  stood  beside  the  colored  woman. 
It  would  never  do  to  have  the  famous  Mrs.  Mott 
seen  in  the  rain  on  his  car  ;  so  the  conductor,  in  his 
turn,  went  out  and  begged  her  to  come  in. 

'•  I  cannot  go  in  without  this  woman,"  said 
Mrs.  Mott  quietly.  Nonplussed  for  a  moment,  he 
looked  at  the  kindly  face,  and  said,  "  Oh,  well, 
bring  her  in  then  !  "  Soon  the  "  company's  orders" 
were  changed  in  the  interests  of  humanity,  and 
colored  people  as  well  as  white  enjoyed  their  civil 
rights,  as  becomes  a  great  nation. 

With  all  this  beauty  of  character,  Lucretia  Mott 
had  her  trials.  Somewhat  early  in  life  she  and  her 
husband  had  joined  the  so-called  Unitarian  brancli 
of  Quakers,  and  for  this  they  were  persecuted.  So 
deep  was  the  sectarian  feeling,  that  once,  when 
suffering  from  acute  neuralgia,  a  physician  who 
knew  her  well,  when  called  to  attend  her,  said, 
"  Lucretia,  I  am  so  deeply  afflicted  by  thy  rebellious 
spirit,  that  I  do  not  feel  that  I  can  prescribe  for 
thee,"  and  he  left  her  to  her  sufferings.  Such  lack 
of  toleration  reads  very  strangely  at  this  da}'. 


48  LUC  RE  TI A   MOTT. 

In  1868,  Mr.  Mott  and  his  wife,  the  one  eighty,  and 
the  other  seventy-five,  went  to  Brookh'n,  N.  Y.,  to 
visit  their  grandchildren.  He  was  taken  ill  of  pneu- 
monia, and  expressed  a  wish  to  go  home,  but  added, 
"  I  suppose  I  shall  die  here,  and  then  I  shall  be 
at  home  ;  it  is  just  as  well."  Mrs.  Mott  watched 
with  him  through  the  night,  and  at  last,  becoming 
wear}',  laid  her  head  upon  his  pillow  and  went  to 
sleep.  In  the  morning,  the  daughter  coming  in, 
found  the  one  resting  from  weariness,  the  other 
resting  forever. 

At  the  request  of  several  colored  men,  who 
respected  their  benefactor,  Mr.  Mott  was  borne 
to  his  grave  by  their  hands.  Thus  ended,  for  this 
world,  what  one  who  knew  them  well  called  ''  the 
most  perfect  wedded  life  to  be  found  on  earth." 

Mrs.  Mott  said,  "James  and  I  loved  each  other 
more  than  ever  since  we  worked  together  for  a  great 
cause."     She  carried  out  the  old  couplet :  — 

"  And  be  this  thy  pride,  what  but  few  have  done, 
To  hold  fast  the  love  thou  hast  early  won." 

After  his  death,  she  wrote  to  a  friend,  "I  do  not 
mourn,  but  rather  remember  my  blessings,  and  the 
blessing  of  his  long  life  with  me." 

For  twelve  years  more  she  lived  and  did  her 
various  duties.  She  had  seen  the  slave  freed,  and 
was  thankful.  The  other  reforms  for  which  she 
labored  were  progressing.  At  eighty-five  she  still 
spoke  in  the  great  meetings.     Each  Christmas  she 


LUCRETIA  MOTT.  49 

carried  turkeys,  pies,  and  a  gift  for  each  man  and 
woman  at  the  "  Aged  Colored  Home,"  in  Philadel- 
phia, driving  twenty  miles,  there  and  back.  Each 
year  she  sent  a  box  of  candy  to  each  conductor  and 
brakeman  on  the  North  Pennsylvania  Railroad, 
"Because,"  she  said,  "  they  never  let  me  lift  out 
my  bundles,  but  catch  them  up  so  quickly,  and  they 
all  seem  to  know  me." 

Finally  the  time  came  for  her  to  go  to  meet  James. 
As  the  end  drew  near,  she  seemed  to  think  that  she 
was  conducting  her  own  funeral,  and  said,  as  though 
addressing  an  audience,  "  If  3'ou  resolve  to  follow 
the  Lamb  wherever  you  may  be  led,  you  will  find  all 
the  ways  pleasant  and  the  paths  peace.  Let  me 
go  !     Do  take  me  !  " 

There  was  a  large  and  almost  silent  funeral  at  the 
house,  and  at  the  cemetery  several  thousand  persons 
were  gathered.  AVhen  friends  were  standing  by  the 
open  grave,  a  low  voice  said,  "  Will  no  one  say 
anything?"  and  another  responded,  "Who  can 
speak  ?  the  preacher  is  dead  !  " 

Memorial  services  were  held  in  various  cities. 
For  such  a  woman  as  Lucretia  Mott,  with  cultured 
mind,  noble  heart,  and  holy  pur[)ose,  there  are  no 
sex  limitations.     Her  field  is  the  world. 

Those  who  desire  to  know  more  of  this  gifted 
woman  will  find  it  in  a  most  interesting  volume, 
Lives  of  James  and  Lucretia  Mott,  written  by  their 
grandaughter,  Anna  Davis  Hallowell,  West  Medford, 
Mass. 


50  MARY  A.  LIVERMORE. 


MARY   A.   LIVERMORE. 


>^^c 


WHEN  a  nation  passes  through  a  great  struggle 
like  our  Civil  War,  great  leaders  are  devel- 
oped. Had  it  not  been  for  this,  probably  Mrs. 
Livermore,  like  many  other  noble  women,  would  be 
to-day  living  quietly  in  some  pleasaut  home,  doing 
the  common  duties  of  e very-day  life.  She  would 
not  be  the  famous  lecturer,  the  gifted  writer,  the 
leader  of  the  Sanitary  Commission  in  the  West ;  a 
brilliant  illustration  of  the  work  a  woman  may  do  in 
the  world,  and  still  retain  the  truest  womanliness. 

She  was  born  in  Boston,  descended  from  an- 
cestors who  for  six  generations  had  been  Welsh 
preachers,  and  reared  b\'  parents  of  the  strictest 
Calvinistic  faith.  Mr.  Rice,  her  father,  was  a  man 
of  honesty  and  integrity,  while  the  mother  was  a 
woman  of  remarkable  judgment  and  common  sense. 

Mary  was  an  eager  scholar,  and  a  great  favorite 
in  school,  because  she  took  the  part  of  all  the  poor 
children.  If  a  little  boy  or  girb  was  a  cripple,  or 
wore  shabby  clothes,  or  had  scant}^  dinners,  or  was 
ridiculed,  he  or  she  found  an  earnest  friend  and 
defender  in  the  courageous  girl. 

So  fond  was  she  of  the  five  children  in  the  home-, 


iA^^Jv/^^h^tC 


i}fAKY  A.   LIVERMOBE.  51 

younger  than  herself,  and  so  muc4i  did  she  take  upon 
herself  the  responsibility  of  their  conversion,  that 
when  but  ten  years  old,  unable  to  sleep,  she  would 
rise  from  her  bed  and  waken  her  father  and  mother 
that  they  might  pray  for  the  sisters.  ''It's  no 
matter  about  me,"  she  would  say;  "if  they  are 
saved,  I  can  bear  anything." 

Mature  in  thought  and  care-taking  beyond  her 
years,  she  was  still  fond  of  out-door  sports  and 
merry  times.  Sliding  on  the  ice  was  her  especial 
delight.  One  day,  after  a  full  hour's  fun  in  the  brac- 
ing air,  she  rushed  into  the  house,  the  blood  tingling 
in  every  vein,  exclaiming,  "  It's  splendid  sliding  !  " 
"Yes,"  replied  the  father,  "it's  good  fun,  but 
wretched  for  shoes." 

All  at  once  the  young  girl  saw  how  hard  it  was  for 
her  parents  to  buy  shoes,  with  their  limited  means  ; 
and  from  that  day  to  this  she  never  slid  upon  the 
ice. 

There  were  few  playthings  in  the  simple  home, 
but  her  chief  pastime  was  in  holding  meetings  in  her 
father's  woodshed,  with  the  other  children.  Great 
logs  were  laid  out  for  benches,  and  split  sticks  were 
set  upon  them  for  people.  Mary  was  always  the 
leader,  both  in  praying  and  preaching,  and  the  others 
were  good  listeners.  Mrs.  Rice  would  be  so  much 
amused  at  the  queer  scene,  that  a  smile  would  creep 
over  her  face  ;  but  Mr.  Rice  would  look  on  reverently, 
and  say,  "I  wish  you  had  been  a  boy;  3'ou  could 
have  been  trained  for  the  ministry." 


52  MARY  A.   LIVERMORE. 

When  she  was  twelve  years  old  she  began  to  be 
eager  to  earn  something.  She  could  not  bear  to  see 
her  father  work  so  hard  for  her.  Alas  !  how  often 
young  women,  twice  twelve,  allow  their  father's  hair 
to  grow  white  from  overwork,  because  they  think 
societ}'  will  look  down  upon  them  if  they  labor.  Is 
work  more  a  disgrace  to  a  girl  than  a  boy  ?  Not  at 
all.  Unfortunate  is  the  young  man  who  marries  a 
girl  who  is  either  afraid  or  ashamed  to  work. 

Though  not  fond  of  sewing.  Mary  decided  to  learn 
dressmaking,  because  this  would  give  her  self- 
support.  For  three  months  she  worked  in  a  shop, 
that  she  might  learn  the  trade,  and  then  she  stayed 
three  months  longer  and  earned  thirty-seven  cents  a 
day.  As  this  seemed  meagre,  she  looked  about  her 
for  more  work.  Going  to  a  clothing  establishment, 
she  asked  for  a  dozen  red  flannel  shirts  to  make. 
The  proprietor  might  have  wondered  who  the  child 
was,  but  he  trusted  her  honest  face,  and  gave  her 
the  bundle.  She  was  to  receive  six  and  a  quarter 
cents  apiece,  and  to  return  them  on  a  certain  day. 
Working  night  after  night,  sometimes  till  the  earh' 
morning  hours,  she  was  able  to  finish  only  half  at 
the  time  specified. 

On  that  day  a  man  came  to  the  door  and  asked, 
"  Does  Mary  Rice  live  here?" 

The  mother  had  gone  to  the  door,  and  answered 
in  the  affirmative. 

"Well,  she  took  a  dozen  red  flannel  shirts  from 
my  shop  to  make,  and  she  hain't  returned  'em  !  " 

"  It  can't  be  mv  dausfhter,"  said  Mrs.  Rice. 


MABY  A.  LIVERMORE.  53 

Tlie  man  was  sure  he  had  the  right  number,  but 
he  looked  perplexed.  Just  then  Mary,  who  was  in 
the  sitting-room,  appeared  on  the  scene. 

"Yes,  mother,  I  got  these  shirts  of  the  man." 

"  You  promised  to  get  'em  done,  Miss,"  he  said, 
"  and  we  are  in  a  great  hurry." 

"  You  shall  have  the  shirts  to-morrow  night,"  said 
Mrs.  Rice. 

After  the  man  left  the  house,  the  mother  burst  into 
tears,  saying,  "We  are  not  so  poor  as  that.  M^^ 
dear  child,  what  is  to  become  of  you  if  you  take  all 
the  cares  of  the  world  upon  your  shoulders  ?  " 

When  the  work  was  done,  and  the  seveut3'-five 
cents  received,  Mary  would  take  only  half  of  it, 
because  she  had  earned  but  half. 

A  brighter  day  was  dawning  for  Mary  Rice.  A 
little  later,  longing  for  an  education.  Dr.  Neale,  their 
good  minister,  encouraged  and  assisted  her  to  go  to 
the  Charlestown  Female  Seminary.  Before  the  term 
closed  one  of  the  teachers  died,  and  the  bright, 
earnest  pupil  was  asked  to  fill  the  vacancy.  She 
accepted,  reciting  out  of  school  to  fit  herself  for  her 
classes,  earning  enough  by  her  teaching  to  pay  her 
way,  and  taking  the  four  years'  course  in  two  years. 
Before  she  was  twenty  she  taught  two  years  on  a 
Virginia  plantation  as  a  governess,  and  came  North 
with  six  hundred  dollars  and  a  good  supply  of 
clothes.  Probably  she  has  never  felt  so  rich  since 
that  day. 

She  was  now  asked  to  take  charge  of  the  Duxbury 


54  MARY  A.  LI  VERM  ORE. 

High  School,  where  she  became  aii  inspiration  to 
her  scholars.  Even  the  dullest  learned  under  her 
enthusiasm.  She  took  long  walks  to  keep  up  her 
health  and  spirits,  thus  making  her  bod}^  as  vigorous 
as  her  heart  was  S3mpathetic. 

It  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  bright  young 
teacher  had  many  admirers.  Who  ever  knew  an 
educated,  genial  girl  who  was  not  a  favorite  with 
young  men?  It  is  a  libel  on  the  sex  to  think  that 
the}^  prefer  ignorant  or  idle  girls. 

Among  those  who  saw  the  beauty  of  character  and 
the  mental  power  of  Miss  Rice  was  a  young  minis- 
ter, whose  church  was  near  her  schoolhouse.  The 
first  time  she  attended  his  services,  he  preached 
from  the  text,  "And  thou  shalt  call  his  name  Jesus  ; 
for  he  shall  save  his  people  from  their  sins."  Her 
sister  had  died,  and  the  family  were  in  sorrow ;  but 
this  gospel  of  love,  which  he  preached  with  no 
allusion  to  eternal  punishment,  was  full  of  comfort. 
What  was  the  minister's  surprise  to  have  the  young 
lady  ask  to  take  home  the  sermon  and  read  it,  and 
afterwards,  some  of  his  theological  books.  What 
was  the  teacher's  surprise,  a  little  later,  to  find  that 
while  she  was  interested  in  his  sermons  and  books, 
he  had  become  interested  in  her.  The  sequel  can 
be  guessed  easily  ;  she  became  the  wife  of  Rev.  D. 
P.  Livermore  at  twenty-three. 

He  had  idolized  his  mother ;  very  naturally,  with 
deep  reverence  for  woman,  he  would  make  a  devoted 
husband.      For    fifteen    vears    the    intelligent   wife 


MARY  A.   LIVEJRMORE.  55 

aided  him  in  editing  Tlie  New  Covenant^  a  religions 
paper  publislied  in  Cliicago,  in  which  city  tliey  had 
made  their  home.  Her  writings  were  always  clear, 
strong,  and  helpfnl.  Three  children  had  been  born 
into  their  home,  and  life,  with  its  cares  and  its  work, 
was  a  A'ery  happy  one. 

But  the  time  came  for  the  quiet  life  to  be  entirely 
changed.  In  1861  the  nation  found  itself  plunged 
into  war.  The  slave  question  was  to  be  settled  once 
for  all  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  Like  every 
other  true-hearted  woman,  Mrs.  Livermore  had  been 
deeply  stirred  by  passing  events.  AVhen  Abraham 
Lincoln's  call  for  seventy-five  thousand  men  was 
eagerly  responded  to,  she  was  in  Boston,  and  saw 
the  troops,  all  unused  to  hardships,  start  for  the 
battle-fields.  The  streets  were  crowded  with  tens  of 
thousands.  Bells  rung,  bands  played,  and  women 
smiled  and  said  good-b3"e,  when  their  hearts  were 
breaking.  After  the  train  moved  out  of  the  station, 
four  women  fainted ;  nature  could  no  longer  bear 
the  terrible  strain.  Mrs.  Livermore  helped  restore 
the  women  to  consciousness.  She  had  no  sons  to 
send;  but  when  such  partings  were  seen,  and  such 
sorrows  were  in  the  future,  she  could  not  rest. 

What  could  women  do  to  help  in  the  dreadful 
struo^Qjle?  A  meetino-  of  New  York  ladies  was 
called,  which  resulted  in  the  formation  of  an  Aid 
Society,  pledging  loyalty  to  the  Government,  and 
promising  assistance  to  soldiers  and  their  families. 
Two  orentlemen  were  sent  to  "NVashino^ton  to   ask 


56  MARY  A.  LIVER  MO  BE. 

what  work  could  be  done,  but  word  came  back  that 
there  was  no  place  for  women  at  the  front,  nor  no 
need  for  them  in  the  hospitals.  Such  words  were 
worse  than  wasted  on  American  women.  Since  the 
da}^  when  men  and  women  together  breasted  the 
storms  of  New  England  in  the  Mayfloicer,  and  to- 
gether planted  a  new  civilization,  together  they 
have  worked  side  by  side  in  all  great  matters.  They 
were  untiring  in  the  Revolutionary  War  ;  they  worked 
faithfully  in  the  dark  days  of  anti-slavery  agitation, 
taking  their  very  lives  in  their  hands.  And  now 
their  husbands  and  sons  and  brothers  had  gone  from 
their  homes.  Thej'  would  die  on  battle-fields,  and 
in  lonely  camps  untended,  and  the  women  simply 
said,  "  Some  of  us  must  follow  our  best-beloved." 

The  United  States  Sanitary  Commission  was  soon 
organized,  for  working  in  hospitals,  looking  after 
camps,  and  providing  comforts  for  the  soldiers. 
Branch  associations  were  formed  in  ten  large  cities. 
The  great  Northwestern  Branch  was  put  under  the 
leadership  of  Mrs.  Livermore  and  Mrs.  A.  H.  Hoge. 
Useful  things  began  to  pour  in  from  all  over  the 
country,  — fruits,  clothing,  bedding,  and  all  needed 
comforts  for  the  army.  Then  Mrs.  Livermore,  now 
a  woman  of  forty,  with  great  executive  ability,  warm 
heart,  courage,  and  perseverance,  with  a  few  others, 
went  to  Washington  to  talk  with  President  Lincoln. 

"  Can  no  women  go  to  the  front?  "  they  asked. 

"No  civilian,  either  man  or  woman,  is  permitted 
by  laiv,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln.     But  the  great  heart  of 


MARY  A.   LIVERMORE.  57 

the  greatest  man  iu  America  was  superior  to  the 
law,  and  he  placed  not  a  straw  in  their  wa3\  He 
was  in  favor  of  anything  which  helped  the  men  who 
fought  and  bled  for  their  country. 

Mrs.  Livermore's  first  broad  experience  in  the  war 
was  after  the  battle  of  Fort  Donelson.  There  were 
no  hospitals  for  the  men,  and  the  wounded  were 
hauled  down  the  hillside  in  rough-board  Tennessee 
wagons,  most  of  them  dying  before  tlioy  reached  8t. 
Louis.  Some  poor  fellows  lay  with  the  frozen  earth 
around  them,  chopped  out  after  lying  in  the  mud 
from  Saturda}^  morning  until  Sunday  evening. 

One  blue-ej'ed  lad  of  nineteen,  with  both  legs  and 
both  arms  shattered,  when  asked,  "  How  did  it  hap- 
pen that  you  were  left  so  long?"  said,  "  ^Vhy,  you 
see,  they  couldn't  stop  to  bother  with  us,  because 
they  had  to  take  the  fort.  When  they  took  it,  we 
forgot  our  sufferings,  and  all  over  the  battle-field 
cheers  went  up  from  the  wounded,  and  even  from 
the  dying." 

At  the  rear  of  the  battle-fields  the  Sanitary  Com- 
mission now  began  to  keep  its  wagons  with  hot 
soup  and  hot  coffee,  women,  fitly  chosen,  always 
joining  in  this  work,  in  the  midst  of  danger.  After 
the  first  repulse  at  Vicksburg,  there  was  great  sick- 
ness and  suffering.  The  Commission  sent  Mrs. 
Hoge,  two  gentlemen  accompanying  her,  with  a 
boat-load  of  supplies  for  the  sick.  One  emaciated 
soldier,  to  wliom  she  gave  a  little  package  of  white 
sugar,  with  a  lemon,  some  green  tea,  two  herrings. 


58  MARY  A.  LIVERMORE. 

two  onions,  and  some  pepper,  said,  "  Is  that  all  for 
me?"  She  bowed  assent.  She  says  :  "  He  covered 
his  pinched  face  with  his  thin  hands  and  bm*st  into 
a  low,  sobbing  cry.  I  laid  my  hand  upon  his  shoul- 
der, and  said,  '  AVhy  do  3'ou  weep?'  'God  bless 
the  women  ! '  he  sobbed  out.  '  What  should  we  do 
])ut  for  them?  I  came  from  father's  farm,  where 
all  knew  plent}' ;  I've  lain  sick  these  three  months  ; 
I've  seen  no  woman's  face,  nor  heard  her  voice,  nor 
felt  her  warm  hand  till  to-day,  and  it  unmans  me  ; 
but  don't  think  I  rue  my  bargain,  for  I  don't.  I've 
suffered  much  and  long,  but  don't  let  them  know  at 
home.  Maybe  I'll  never  have  a  chance  to  tell  them 
how  much  ;  but  I'd  go  through  it  all  for  the  old  flag.' " 

Shortly  after,  accompanied  by  an  officer,  she  went 
into  the  rifle-pits.  The  heat  was  stifling,  and  the 
mhiie-balls  were  whizzing.  "  Why,  madam,  where 
did  you  come  from?  Did  3'ou  drop  from  lieaven 
into  these  rifle-pits?  You  are  the  first  lady  we  have 
seen  here  ;  "  and  then  the  voice  was  choked  with 
tears. 

"  I  have  come  from  your  friends  at  home,  and 
bring  messages  of  love  and  honor.  I  have  come  to 
bring  3'ou  the  comforts  we  owe  you,  and  love  to  give. 
I've  come  to  see  if  you  receive  what  they  send  you," 
she  replied. 

"Do  they  think  as  much  of  us  as  that?  Why, 
boys,  we  can  fight  another  ^-ear  on  that,  can't  we?  " 

"  Yes,  3'es  !  "  the\'  cried,  and  almost  every  hand 
was  raised  to  brush  away  the  tears. 


MARY  A.   LIVERMORE.  59 

She  made  them  ti  kindly  tulk,  shook  the  hard, 
honest  hands,  and  said  good-bye.  "Madame," 
said  the  officer,  "promise  me  that  you'll  visit  m\' 
regiment  to-morrow  ;  'twould  be  worth  a  victory  to 
them.  You  don't  know  what  good  a  lady's  visit  to 
the  army  does.  These  men  whom  you  have  seen 
to-day  will  talk  of  your  visit  for  six  months  to 
come.  Around  the  fires,  in  the  rifle-pits,  in  the 
dark  night,  Oi  on  the  march,  they  will  repeat  your 
w^ords,  describe  your  looks,  voice,  size,  and  dress  ; 
and  all  agree  in  one  respect, — that  you  look  like  an 
angel,  and  exactly  like  each  man's  wife  or  mother." 
Ah !  w^as  there  no  work  for  women  to  do  ? 

The  Sanitary  and  Christian  Commissions  expended 
about  fifty  million  dollars  during  the  war,  and  of 
this,  the  women  raised  a  generous  portion.  Each 
battle  cost  the  Sanitary  Commission  about  seventy- 
five  thousand  dollars,  and  the  battle  of  Gettysburg, 
a  half  million  dollars.  Mrs.  Livermore  was  one  of 
the  most  efficient  helpers  in  raising  this  money. 
She  went  among  the  people,  and  solicited  fnnds  and 
supplies  of  every  kind. 

One  night  it  was  arranged  that  she  should  speak 
in  Dubuque,  Iowa,  that  the  people  of  that  State 
might  hear  directly  from  their  soldiers  at  the  front. 
When  she  arrived,  instead  of  finding  a  few  women 
as  she  had  expected,  a  large  church  was  packed 
with  both  men  and  w^omen,  eager  to  listen.  The 
governor  of  the  State  and  other  officials  were  pres- 
ent.    She  had  never  spoken  in  a  mixed  assembly. 


60  MARY  A.  LIVERMORE. 

Her  conservative  training  made  her  shrink  from  it, 
and,  unfortunateh',  made  her  feel  incapable  of  doing 
it. 

"I  cannot  speak!"  she  said  to  the  women  who 
had  asked  her  to  come. 

Disappointed  and  disheartened,  the}'  finally  ar- 
ranged with  a  prominent  statesman  to  jot  down  the 
facts  from  her  lips  ;  and  then,  as  best  he  could,  tell 
to  the  audience  the  experiences  of  the  woman  who 
had  been  on  battle-fields,  amid  the  wounded  and 
dying.  Just  as  they  were  about  to  go  upon  the 
platform,  the  gentleman  said,  "Mrs.  Livermore,  I 
have  heard  you  say  at  the  front,  that  you  would  give 
your  all  for  the  soldiers,  —  a  foot,  a  hand,  or  a 
voice.  Now  is  the  time  to  give  your  voice,  if  you 
wish  to  do  good." 

She  meditated  a  moment,  and  then  she  said,  "I 
will  try." 

When  she  arose  to  speak,  the  sea  of  faces  before 
her  seemed  blurred.  She  was  talking  into  blank 
darkness.  She  could  not  even  hear  her  own  voice. 
But  as  she  went  on,  and  the  needs  of  the  soldiers 
crowded  upon  her  mind,  she  forgot  all  fear,  and  for 
two  hours  held  the  audience  spell-bound.  Men  and 
women  wept,  and  patriotism  filled  every  heart.  At 
eleven  o'clock  eiglit  thousand  dollars  were  pledged, 
and  then,  at  the  suggestion  of  the  presiding  officer, 
they  remained  until  one  o'clock  to  perfect  plans  for 
a  fair,  from  which  they  cleared  sixty  thousand  dol- 
lars.    After  this,  Mrs.  Livermore  spoke  in  hundreds 


MARY  A.  LIVER  MO  RE.  61 

of  towns,  helping  to  organize  many  of  the  move 
than  twelve  thousand  five  hundred  aid  societies 
formed  during  eighteen  months. 

As  money  became  more  and  more  needed,  Mrs. 
Llvermore    decided    to   try   a    sanitary   commission 
fair  in  Chicago.     The  women  said,  "We  will  raise 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars,"  but  the  men  laughed 
at  such  an  impossibility.     The  farmers  were  visited, 
and  solicited  to  give  vegetables  and  grain,  while  the 
cities   were  not  forgotten.     Fourteen  of   Chicago's 
largest  halls  were  hired.     The  women  had  gone  into 
debt  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  the  men  of  the  city 
began  to  think  they  were    crazy.     The    Board  of 
Trade  called  upon  them  and  advised  that  the  fair 
be  given  up  ;    the   debts    should  be   paid,  and  the 
men  would  give  the  twenty-five  thousand,  when,  in 
their  judgment,  it  was  needed  !    The  women  thanked 
them  courteously,  but  pushed  forward  in  the  work. 
It  had  been  arranged  that  the  farmers  should  come 
on  the  opening  day,  in  a  procession,  with  their  gifts 
of  vegetables.     Of  this  plan  the  newspapers  made 
great "^ sport,   calling    it   the     "potato   procession." 
The  day  came.     The  school  children  had  a  holiday, 
the  bells  were  rung,  one  hundred  guns  were  fired, 
and  the  whole  city  gathered  to  see  the  "  potato  pro- 
cession."    Finally  it  arrived,  —  great  loads  of  cab- 
bages, onions,  and  over  four  thousand  bushels  of 
potatoes.     The  wagons  each  bore  a  motto,  draped 
in  black,  with    the  words,    "We  buried  a  son  at 
Donelson,"  "Our  father  hes  at  Stone  River,"  and 


62  MAEY  A.  LIVERMORE. 

other  similar  ones.  The  flags  on  the  horses'  heads 
were  bound  with  black  ;  the  women  who  rode  beside 
a  husband  or  sou,  were  dressed  in  deep  mourning. 
When  the  procession  stopped  before  Mrs.  Liver- 
more's  house,  the  jeers  were  over,  and  the  dense 
crowd  wept  like  children. 

Six  of  the  public  halls  were  filled  with  beautiful 
things  for  sale,  while  eight  were  closed  so  that  no 
otlier  attractions  might  compete  with  the  fair.  In- 
stead of  twenty-five  thousand,  the  women  cleared 
one  hundred  thousand  dollars. 

Then  Cincinnati  followed  with  a  fair,  making  two 
hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand ;  Boston,  three 
hundred  and  eighty  thousand  ;  New  York,  one  mil- 
lion ;  and  Philadelphia,  two  hundred  thousand  more 
than  New  York.  The  women  had  found  that  there 
was  work  enough  for  them  to  do. 

Mrs.  Livermore  was  finally  ordered  to  make  a 
tour  of  the  hospitals  and  military  posts  on  the  Mis- 
sissippi Eiver,  and  here  her  aid  was  invaluable.  It 
required  a  remarkable  woman  to  undertake  such  a 
work.  At  one  point  she  found  twenty-three  men, 
sick  and  wounded,  whose  regiments  had  left  them, 
and  who  could  not  be -discharged  because  they  had 
no  descriptive  lists.  She  went  at  once  to  General 
Grant,  and  said,  "  General,  if  you  will  give  me 
authority  to  do  so,  I  will  agree  to  take  these  twenty- 
three  wounded  men  home." 

The  officials  respected  the  noble  woman,  and  the 
red  tape    of  army  life    was   broken    for  her   sake. 


MARY  A.  LIVERMORE.  63 

AVhen  the  desolate  company  arrived  in  Chicago,  ou 
Saturday,  the  last  train  had  left  which  could  have 
taken  a  Wisconsin  soldier  home.  »She  took  him  to 
the  hotel,  had  a  fire  made  for  him,  and  called  a 
doctor. 

"  Pull  him  through  till  Monday-,  Doctor,"  she  said, 
"  and  I'll  get  him  home."  Then,  to  the  lad,  ''  You 
shall  have  a  nurse,  and  Monday  morning  I  will  go 
with  you  to  your  mother." 

"  Oh  I  don't  go  away,"  he  pleaded;  "I  never 
shall  see  3'ou  again." 

"  AVell,  then,  I'll  go  home  and  see  my  family,  and 
come  back  in  two  hours.  The  door  shall  be  left 
open,  and  I'll  put  this  bell  beside  you,  so  that  the 
chambermaid  will  come  when  you  ring." 

He  consented,  and  Mrs.  Livermore  came  back  in 
two  hours.  The  soldier's  face  was  turned  toward 
the  door,  as  though  waiting  for  her,  but  he  was 
dead.     He  had  gone  home,  but  not  to  Wisconsin. 

After  the  close  of  the  war,  so  eager  were  the  peo- 
ple to  hear  her,  that  she  entered  the  lecture  field  and 
has  for  years  held  the  foremost  place  among  women 
as  a  public  speaker.  She  lectures  five  nights  a  week, 
for  five  months,  travelling  twenty -five  thousand 
miles  annuallv.  Her  fine  voice,  womanly,  dignified 
manner,  and  able  thought  have  brought  crowded 
houses  before  her,  year  after  year.  She  has  earned 
money,  and  spent  it  generously  for  others.  The 
energy  and  conscientiousness  of  little  Mary  Rice 
have  borne  their  leo-itimate  fruit. 


64  }fARY  A.   LIYEBMORE. 

Every  year  touching  incidents  came  np  concerning 
the  war  days.  Once,  after  she  had  spoken  at  Fab- 
yan's  American  Institute  of  Instruction,  a  military 
man,  six  feet  tall,  came  up  to  her  and  said,  "'  Do  30U 
remember  at  Memphis  coming  over  to  the  officers' 
hospital  ? " 

•'Yes."  said  Mrs.  Livermore. 

"While  the  officers  were  paid  salaries,  very  often 
the  paymasters  could  not  find  them  when  ill,  and  for 
months  they  would  not  have  a  penny,  not  even  re- 
ceiving army  rations.  Mrs.  Livermore  found  many 
in  great  need,  and  carried  them  from  the  Sanitary 
Commission  ?jlankets.  medicine,  and  food.  Milk 
was  greatly  desired,  and  almost  impossible  to  be  ob- 
tained. One  day  she  came  into  the  wards,  and  said 
that  a  certain  portion  of  the  sick  '•  could  have  two 
goblets  of  milk  for  every  meal." 

'•  Do  you  remember,"  said  the  tall  man,  who  was 
then  a  major,  "  that  one  man  cried  bitterly  and 
said.  '  I  want  two  glasses  of  milk,'  and  that  you 
patted  him  on  the  head,  as  he  lay  on  his  cot?  And 
that  the  man  said,  as  he  thought  of  the  dear  ones  at 
home,  whom  he  might  not  see  again.  '  Could  you 
kiss  me  ? '  and  the  noble  woman  bent  down  and 
kissed  him?  I  am  that  man.  and  God  bless  you  for 
your  kindness." 

Mrs.  Livermore  wears  on  her  third  finger  a  plain 
gold  ring  which  has  a  touching  history. 

After  lecturing  recently  at  Albion,  Mich.,  a 
woman   came   up.   who  had   driven   eight  miles,    to 


MABY  A.   LIVERMORE.  65 

thank  her  for  a  letter  written  for  John,  her  sou, 
as  he  was  dying  in  the  hospital.  The  first  four 
lines  were  dictated  by  tlie  dying  soldier ;  then  death 
came,  and  Mrs.  Livermore  finished  the  message. 
The  faded  letter  had  been  kept  for  twenty  years, 
and  copies  made  of  it.  "  Annie,  my  son's  wife," 
said  the  mother,  ''  never  got  over  John's  death. 
She  kept  about  and  worked,  but  the  life  had  gone 
out  of  her.  Eight  years  ago  she  died.  One  day 
slie  said,  '  Mother,  if  you  ever  find  Mrs.  Livermore, 
or  hear  of  her,  I  wish  3'ou  would  give  her  my  wed- 
ding ring,  which  has  never  been  off  my  finger  since 
John  put  it  there.  Ask  her  to  wear  it  for  John's 
sake  and  mine,  and  tell  her  this  was  my  dying 
request.'  " 

With  tears  in  the  eyes  of  both  giver  and  receiver, 
Mrs.  Livermore  held  out  her  hand,  and  the  mother 
placed  on  the  finger  this  memento  of  two  precious 
lives. 

Mrs.  Livermore  has  spent  ten  years  in  the  tem- 
perance reform.  While  she  has  shown  the  dreadful 
results  of  the  liquor  traffic,  she  has  been  kind  both 
in  word  and  deed.  Some  time  ago,  passing  along  a 
Boston  street,  she  saw  a  man  in  the  ditch,  and 
a  poor  woman  bending  over  him. 

'•  Wlio  is  he?  "  she  asked  of  the  woman. 

"  He's  my  husband,  ma'am.  He's  a  good  man 
when  he  is  sober,  and  earns  four  dollars  a  day  in  the 
foundry.     I  keep  a  saloon." 

Mrs.  Livermore  called  a  hack.  ''  Will  you  carry 
this  man  to  number ?  " 


66  MARY  A.   LIVERMORE. 

"  No,  madam,  he's  too  dirty.  I  won't  soil  my 
carriage." 

"  Oh  I  "  pleaded  the  wife,  ''I'll  clean  it  all  up 
for  ye,  if  ye'll  take  him,"  and  pulling  off  her  dress- 
skirt,  she  tried  to  wrap  it  around  her  husband. 
Stepping  to  a  saloon  near  by,  Mrs.  Livermore  asked 
the  men  to  come  out  and  help  lift  him.  At  first 
they  laughed,  but  were  soon  made  ashamed,  when 
the}'  saw  that  a  lady  was  assisting.  The  drunken 
man  was  gotten  upou  his  feet,  wrapped  in  his  wife's 
clothing,  put  into  the  hack,  and  then  Mrs.  Liver- 
more  and  the  wife  got  in  beside  him,  and  he  was 
taken  home.  The  next  day  the  good  Samaritan 
called,  and  brought  the  priest,  from  whom  the  man 
took  the  pledge.     A  changed  family  was  the  result. 

Her  life  is  filled  with  thousands  of  acts  of  kind- 
ness, on  the  cars,  in  poor  homes,  and  in  various 
charitable  institutions.  She  is  the  author  of  two 
or  more  books,  What  shall  ice  do  with  Our 
Daughters?  and  Reminiscences  of  the  War;  but  her 
especial  power  has  been  her  eloquent  words,  spoken 
all  over  the  country,  in  pulpits,  before  colleges,  in 
city  and  country',  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific 
Coast.  Like  Abraham  Lincoln,  who  said,  "  I  go 
for  all  sharing  the  privileges  of  the  government, 
who  assist  in  bearing  its  burdens,  —  b}'  no  means 
excluding  women,"  she  has  advocated  the  enfran- 
chisement of  her  sex,  along  with  her  other  work. 

Now,  past  sixt3\  her  active,  earnest  life,  in  con- 
tact with  the  people,  has  kept  her  young  in  heart 
and  in  looks. 


^fAEY  A.   LIVERMORE.  67 

"  A  great  authority  on  what  constitutes  beauty 
complains  that  the  majority  of  women  acquire  a 
dull,  yacant  expression  towards  middle  life,  which 
makes  them  positiyely  plain.  He  attril)utes  it  to 
their  neglect  of  all  mental  culture,  their  liyes  haying 
settled  down  to  a  monotonous  routine  of  house- 
keeping, yisiting,  gossip,  and  shopping.  Their 
thoughts  become  mo^iotonous,  too,  for,  though 
these  things  are  all  good  enough  in  their  way,  they 
are  powerless  to  keep  up  any  mental  life  or  any 
actiyity  of  thought." 

Mrs.  Liyermore  has  been  an  inspiration  to  girls 
to  make  the  most  of  themselyes  and  their  oppor- 
tunities. She  has  been  an  ideal  of  womanhood,  not 
only  to  '•  the  boys  "  on  the  battle-fields,  but  to  tens 
of  thousands  who  are  fighting  the  scarcely  less 
lieroic  battles  of  every-day  life.  May  it  be  man}^ 
years  before  she  shall  go  out  foreyer  from  her  rest- 
ful, happy  home,  at  Melrose,  3Iass. 


68  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 


MARGARET   FULLER   OSSOLL 


MARGARET  FULLER,  in  some  respects  the 
most  remarkable  of  American  women,  lived 
a  pathetic  life  and  died  a  tragic  death.  Without 
money  and  without  beauty,  she  became  the  idol  of 
an  immense  circle  of  friends  ;  men  and  women  were 
alike  hei:  devotees.  It  is  the  old  story  :  that  the 
woman  of  brain  makes  lasting  conquests  of  hearts, 
while  the  pretty  face  holds  its  sway  only  for  a  month 
or  a  year. 

Margaret,  born  in  Cambridgeport,  Mass.,  May  23. 
1810,  was  the  oldest  child  of  a  scholarly  lawyer, 
Mr.  Timothy  Fuller,  and  of  a  sweet-tempered,  de- 
voted mother.  The  father,  with  small  means,  had 
one  absorbing  purpose  in  life,  —  to  see  that  each  of 
his  children  was  finely  educated.  To  do  this,  and 
make  ends  meet,  was  a  struggle.  His  daughter 
said,  years  after,  in  writing  of  him  :  "  His  love  for 
my  mother  was  the  green  spot  on  which  he  stood 
apart  from  the  commonplaces  of  a  mere  bread-win- 
nino;  existence.  She  was  one  of  those  fair  and 
flower-like  natures,  which  sometimes  spring  up  even 
beside  the  most  dustv  highways  of  life.     Of  all  per- 


^^^.^, 


(Krom  the  "Portrait  Gallery  of  Eminent  Men  and  Women.") 


MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL  69 

sons  whom  1  have  known,  she  had  in  her  most  of  the 
angelic,  —  of  that  spontaneous  love  for  every  living 
thing,  for  man  and  beast  and  tree,  which  restores 
the  Golden  Age." 

Very  fond  of  his  oldest  child,  Margaret,  the  father 
determined  that  she  should  be  as  well  educated  as 
his  boys.  In  those  days  there  were  no  colleges  for 
girls,  and  none  where  they  might  enter  with  their 
brothers,  so  that  Mr.  Fuller  was  obliged  to  teach  his 
daughter  after  the  wearing  work  of  the  day.  The 
bright  child  began  to  read  Latin  at  six,  but  was 
necessarily  kept  up  late  for  the  recitation.  When  a 
little  later  she  was  walking  in  her  sleep,  and  dream- 
ing strange  dreams,  he  did  not  see  that  he  was  over- 
taxing both  her  body  and  brain.  When  the  lessons 
had  been  learned,  she  would  go  into  the  library,  and 
read  eagerly.  One  Sunday  afternoon,  when  she  was 
eight  years  old,  she  took  down  Shakespeare  from 
the  shelves,  opened  at  Eomeo  and  Juliet,  and  soon 
became  fascinated  with  the  story. 

"  What  are  you  reading?"  asked  her  father. 

"  Shakespeare,"  was  the  answer,  not  lifting  her 
eyes  from  the  page. 

"  That  won't  do  —  that's  no  book  for  Sunday  ;  go 
put  it  away,  and  take  another." 

Margaret  did  as  she  was  bidden ;  but  the  tempta- 
tion was  too  strong,  and  the  book  was  soon  in  her 
hands  again. 

"  What  is  that  child  about,  that  she  don't  hear  a 
word  we  say  ?  "  said  an  aunt. 


70  mahgaret  fuller  ossoll 

Seeing  what  she  was  reading,  the  father  said,  an- 
grily, "  Give  me  the  book,  and  go  directh'  to  bed." 

There  could  have  been  a  wiser  and  gentler  way  of 
control,  but  he  had  not  learned  that  it  is  better  to 
lead  children  than  to  drive  them. 

When  not  reading,  Margaret  enjoyed  her  mother's 
little  garden  of  flowers.  "  I  loved,"  she  says,  '"  to 
gaze  on  the  roses,  the  violets,  the  lilies,  the  pinks  ; 
my  mother's  hand  had  planted  them,  and  they 
bloomed  for  me.  I  kissed  them,  and  pressed  them 
to  my  bosom  with  passionate  emotions.  An  ambi- 
tion swelled  my  heart  to  be  as  beautiful,  as  perfect 
as  they." 

Margaret  grew  to  fifteen  with  an  exuberance  of 
life  and  affection,  which  the  chilling  atmosphere  of 
that  New  England  home  somewhat  suppressed,  and 
with  an  increasing  love  for  books  and  cultured  peo- 
ple. "  I  rise  a  little  before  five,"  she  writes,  "walk 
an  hour,  and  then  practise  on  the  piano  till  seven, 
when  we  breakfast.  Next,  I  read  French  —  Sis- 
mondi's  Literature  of  the  South  of  Europe  —  till 
eight ;  then  two  or  three  lectures  in  Brown's  Philos- 
ophy. About  half  past  nine  I  go  to  Mr.  Perkins's 
school,  and  study  Greek  till  twelve,  when,  the  school 
beiug  dismissed,  I  recite,  go  home,  and  practise 
again  till  dinner,  at  two.  Then,  when  I  can,  I  read 
two  hours  in  Italian." 

And  why  all  this  hard  work  for  a  girl  of  fifteen  ? 
The  "all-powerful  motive  of  ambition,"  she  says. 
"  I  am  determined  on  distinction,  which  formerly  I 


MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL  71 

thought  to  win  at  an  easy  rate  ;  but  now  I  see  that 
long  years  of  labor  must  be  given." 

She  had  learned  the  secret  of  most  prominent 
lives.  The  majority  in  this  world  will  always  be 
mediocre,  because  they  lack  high-minded  ambitioa 
and  the  willingness  to  work. 

Two  years  after,  at  seventeen,  she  writes  :  "I  am 
studying  Madame  de  Stael,  P^pictetus,  Milton,  Ra- 
cine, and  the  Castilian  ballads,  w^th  great  delight. 
...  I  am  engrossed  in  reading  the  elder  Italian 
poets,  beginning  with  Berni,  from  whom  I  shall  pro- 
ceed to  Pulci  and  Politian."  How  almost  infinitely 
above  "  beaus  and  dresses"  was  such  intellectual 
work  as  this  ! 

It  was  impossible  for  such  a  girl  not  to  influence 
the  mind  of  every  person  she  met.  At  nineteen 
she  became  the  warm  friend  of  Rev.  James  Freeman 
Clarke,  "  whose  friendship,"  he  says,  ''was  to  me  a 
gift  of  the  gods.  .  .  .  With  what  eagerness  did  she 
seek  for  knowledge  I  What  fire,  what  exuberance, 
what  reach,  grasp,  overflow  of  thought,  shone  in 
her  conversation  !  .  .  .  And  what  she  thus  was  to 
me,  she  was  to  many  others.  Inexhaustible  in 
power  of  insight,  and  with  a  good  will  '  ))road  as 
ether,'  she  could  enter  into  the  needs,  and  sympa- 
thize with  the  various  excellences,  of  the  greatest 
variety  of  characters.  One  thing  only  she  demanded 
of  all  her  friends,  that  they  should  not  be  satisfied 
with  the  common  routine  of  life,  —  that  they  should 
aspire  to  something  higher,  better,  holier,  than  they 
had  now  attained." 


72  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLI. 

Witty,  learned,  imagiuative,  she  was  conceded  to 
be  the  best  conversationist  in  any  circle.  She  pos- 
sessed the  charm  that  every  woman  may  possess,  — 
appreciation  of  others,  and  interest  in  their  welfare. 
This  sympatliy  unlocked  every  heart  to  her.  She 
was  made  the  confidante  of  thousands.  All  classes 
loved  her.  Now  it  was  a  serving  girl  who  told  Mar- 
garet her  troubles  and  her  cares  ;  now  it  was  a 
distinguished  man  of  letters.  She  was  always  an  in- 
spiration. Men  never  talked  idle,  commonplace  talk 
with  her  ;  she  could  appreciate  the  best  of  their  minds 
and  hearts,  and  they  gave  it.  She  was  fond  of  social 
life,  and  no  party  seemed  complete  without  her. 

At  twenty-two  she  began  to  study  German,  and 
in  three  months  was  reading  with  ease  Goethe's 
Faust,  Tasso  and  Ipliigenia,  Korner,  Richter,  and 
Schiller.  She  greatly  admired  Goethe,  desiring, 
like  him,  "  always  to  have  some  engrossing  object 
of  pursuit."  Besides  all  this  study  she  was  teach- 
ing six  little  children,  to  help  bear  the  expenses  of 
the  household. 

The  family  at  this  time  moved  to  Groton.  a  great 
privation  for  Margaret,  who  enjoyed  and  needed  the 
culture  of  Boston  societv.  But  she  says,  "  As,  sad 
or  merry,  I  must  always  be  learning,  I  laid  down  a 
course  of  stud}'  at  the  beginning  of  the  winter." 
This  consisted  of  the  history  and  geography  of 
modern  Europe,  and  of  America,  architecture,  and 
the  works  of  Alfieri,  Goethe,  and  Schiller.  The 
teaching  was  continued  because  her  brothers  must 


MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL  73 

be  sent  to  Harvard  College,  and  this  required  money  ; 
not  the  first  nor  the  last  time  tliat  sisters  have  worked 
to  give  brothers  an  education  superior  to  their  own. 

At  last  the  constitution,  never  robust,  broke 
down,  and  for  nine  days  Margaret  lay  hovering  be- 
tween this  world  and  the  next.  The  tender  mother 
called  her  "  dear  lamb,"  and  watched  her  constantl3^ 
while  the  stern  father,  who  never  praised  his  chil- 
dren, lest  it  might  harm  them,  said,  '"My  dear,  I 
have  been  thinking  of  you  in  the  night,  and  I  can- 
not remember  that  yon  have  any  faults.  You  have 
defects,  of  course,  as  all  mortals  have,  but  I  do  not 
know  that  you  have  a  single  fault." 

While  Margaret  recovered,  the  father  was  taken 
suddenly  with  cholera,  and  died  after  a  two  days' 
illness.  He  was  sadl}'  missed,  for  at  heart  he  was 
devoted  to  his  family.  AVhen  the  estate  was  settled, 
there  was  little  left  for  each  ;  so  for  Margaret  life 
would  be  more  laborious  than  ever.  She  had  ex- 
pected to  visit  Europe  with  Harriet  Martineau,  who 
was  just  returning  home  from  a  visit  to  this  coun- 
try, but  the  father's  death  crushed  this  long-cherished 
and  ardently-prayed -for  journey.  She  must  stay  at 
home  and  work  for  others. 

Books  were  read  now  more  eagerly  than  ever,  — 
Sartor  Besartus,  Coleridge,  "Wordsworth,  and  Heine. 
But  money  must  be  earned.  Ah !  if  genius  could 
only  develop  in  ease  and  prosperity.  It  rarely  has 
the  chance.  The  tree  grows  best  when  the  dirt  is 
of  tenest  stirred  about  the  roots  ;  perhaps  the  best 
in  us  comes  only  from  such  stirring. 


74  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 

Margaret  now  obtained  a  sitnation  as  teacher  of 
French  and  Latin  in  Bronson  Alcott's  school.  Here 
she  was  appreciated  by  both  master  and  pupils. 
Mr.  Alcott  said,  "I  think  her  the  most  brilliant 
talker  of  the  day.  She  has  a  quick  and  comprehen- 
sive wit,  a  firm  command  of  her  thoughts,  and  a 
speech  to  win  the  ear  of  the  most  cultivated."  She 
taught  advanced  classes  in  German  and  Italian,  be- 
sides having  several  private  pupils. 

Before  this  time  she  had  become  a  valued  friend 
of  the  Emerson  family.  Mr.  Emerson  says,  "Some- 
times she  stayed  a  few  days,  often  a  week,  more 
seldom  a  month,  and  all  tasks  that  could  be  sus- 
pended were  put  aside  to  catch  the  favorable  hour 
in  walking,  riding,  or  boating,  to  talk  with  this  joy- 
ful guest,  who  brought  wit,  anecdotes,  love-stories, 
tragedies,  oracles  with  her.  .  .  .  The  day  was 
never  long  enough  to  exhaust  her  opulent  memory, 
and  I,  who  knew  her  intimately  for  ten  years,  never 
saw  her  without  surprise  at  her  new  powers." 

She  was  passionately,  fond  of  nuisic  and  of  art, 
saying,  "  I  have  been  very  happy  with  four  hun- 
dred and  seventy  designs  of  Raphael  in  my  posses- 
sion for  a  week."  She  loved  nature  like  a  friend, 
paying  homage  to  rocks  and  woods  and  flowers. 
She  said,  "I  hate  not  to  be  beautiful  when  all 
around  is  so." 

After  teaching  with  Mr.  Alcott,  she  became  the 
principal  teacher  in  a  school  at  Providence,  R.  I. 
Here,  as  ever,  she  showed  grreat  wisdom  both  with 


MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLI.  75 

cliildreu  and  adults.  The  little  folks  iii  the  house 
were  allowed  to  look  at  the  gifts  of  many  friends  in 
her  room,  on  condition  that  they  would  not  touch 
them.  One  day  a  young  visitor  came,  and  insisted 
on  taking  down  a  microscope,  and  broke  it.  The 
child  who  belonged  in  the  house  was  well-nigh 
heart-broken  over  the  affair,  and,  though  protesting 
her  innocence,  was  suspected  both  of  the  deed  and 
of  falsehood.  Miss  Fuller  took  the  weeping  child 
upon  her  knee,  saying,  "Now,  m}-  dear  little  girl, 
tell  me  all  about  it ;  only  remember  that  you  must 
be  careful,  for  I  shall  believe  every  word  you  saj-." 
Investigation  showed  that  the  child  thus  confided  in 
told  the  whole  truth. 

After  two  years  in  Providence  she  returned  to 
Boston,  and  in  1839  began  a  series  of  parlor  lec- 
tures, or  "  conversations,"  as  they  were  called. 
This  seemed  a  strange  thing  for  a  woman,  when 
public  speaking  by  her  sex  was  almost  unknown. 
These  talks  were  given  weekly,  from  eleven  o'clock 
till  one,  to  twenty-five  or  thirtv  of  the  most  culti- 
vated women  of  the  city.  Now  the  subject  of  dis- 
cussion was  Grecian  mythology ;  now  it  was  fine 
arts,  education,  or  the  relations  of  woman  to  the 
family,  the  church,  society,  and  literature.  These 
meetings  were  continued  through  five  winters,  sup- 
plemented by  evening  "  conversations,"  attended 
by  both  men  and  women.  In  tliese  gatherings 
Margaret  was  at  her  best,  —  brilliant,  eloquent, 
charming. 


76  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 

During  this  time  a  few  gifted  men,  Emersou, 
Channing,  and  otliers,  decided  to  start  a  literar}* 
and  philosophical  magazine  called  the  Dial.  Prob- 
ably no  woman  in  the  country  would  have  been 
chosen  as  the  editor,  save  Margaret  Fuller.  She  ac- 
cepted the  position,  and  for  four  years  managed  the 
journal  ably,  writing  for  it  some  valuable  essays. 
Some  of  these  were  published  later  in  her  book  on 
Literature  and  Art.  Her  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century,  a  learned  and  vigorous  essay  on  woman's 
place  in  the  world,  first  appeared  in  part  in  the 
Dial.  Of  this  work,  she  said,  in  closing  it,  "After 
taking  a  long  walk,  early  one  most  exhilarating  morn- 
ing, I  sat  down  to  work,  and  did  not  give  it  the  last 
stroke  till  near  nine  in  the  evening.  Then  I  felt  a 
delightful  glow,  as  if  T  had  put  a  good  deal  of  my 
true  life  in  it,  and  as  if.  should  I  go  away  now.  the 
measure  of  my  footprint  would  be  left  on  the 
earth." 

Miss  Fuller  had  published,  besides  these  works,  two 
books  of  translations  from  the  German,  and  a  sketch 
of  travel  called  Sionrner  on  the  Lakes.  Her  experi- 
ence was  like  that  of  most  authors  who  are  begin- 
ning,—  some  fame,  but  no  money  realized.  All  this 
time  she  was  frail  in  liealth.  overworked,  struggling 
as^ainst  odds'  to  make  a  livins;  for  herself  and  those 
she  loved.  But  there  were  some  compensations  in 
this  life  of  toil.  One  person  wrote  her,  "What  I 
am  I  owe  in  large  measure  to  the  stimulus  you 
imparted.     You  roused  my  heart  with  high  hopes  ; 


MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLI.  77 

you  raised  1113'  aims  from  paltry  and  vain  pursuits  to 
those  which  lasted  and  fed  the  soul ;  you  inspired 
me  with  a  great  ambition,  and  made  me  see  the 
worth  and  the  meaning  of  life." 

William  Hunt,  the  renowned  artist,  was  looking 
in  a  book  that  lay  on  the  table  of  a  friend.  It  was 
Mrs.  Jameson's  Italian  Pai liters.  In  describing 
Correggio,  she  said  he  was  "one  of  those  superior 
beings  of  whom  there  are  so  few."  Margaret  had 
written  on  the  margin,  "And  yet  all  might  be  such." 
Mr.  Hunt  said,  "These  words  struck  out  a  new 
strength  in  me.  The}'  revived  resolutions  long  fallen 
away,  and  made  me  set  my  face  like  a  flint." 

Margaret  was  now  thirty-four.  The  sister  was 
married,  the  brothers  had  finished  their  college 
course,  and  she  was  about  to  accept  an  offer  from 
the  Neiv  York  Tribune  to  become  one  of  its  constant 
contributors,  an  honor  that  few  women  would  have 
received.  Early  in  December,  1844,  Margaret  moved 
to  New  York  and  became  a  member  of  Mr.  Greeley's 
famil}'.  Her  literary  work  here  was  that  of,  says 
Mr.  Higginson,  "  the  best  literary  critic  whom 
America  has  yet  seen." 

Sometimes  her  reviews,  like  those  on  the  poetry 
of  Longfellow  and  Lowell,  were  censured,  but  she 
was  impartial  and  able.  Society  opened  wide  its 
doors  to  her,  as  it  had  in  Boston.  Mrs.  Greeley 
became  her  devoted  friend,  and  their  little  son 
"  Pickie,"  five  years  old,  the  idol  of  Mr.  Greeley, 
her  restful  playmate. 


78  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 

A  year  and  a  half  later  an  opportunity  came  for 
Margaret  to  go  to  Europe.  Now,  at  last,  she 
would  see  the  art-galleries  of  the  old  world,  and 
places  rich  in  history,  like  Rome.  Still  there  was 
the  trouble  of  scanty  means,  and  poor  health  from 
overwork.  She  said,  "A  noble  career  is  yet  before 
me,  if  I  can  be  unimpeded  by  cares.  If  our  family 
affairs  could  now  be  so  arranoed  that  I  mi^ht  be 
tolerabh'  tranquil  for  the  next  six  or  eight  years,  I 
should  go  out  of  life  better  satisfied  with  the  page  I 
have  turned  in  it  than  I  shall  if  I  must  still  toil  on." 

After  two  weeks  on  the  ocean,  the  party  of 
friends  arrived  in  London,  and  Miss  Fuller  received 
a  cordial  welcome.  "Wordsworth,  now  seventy-six, 
showed  her  the  lovely  scenery  of  Rydal  Mount, 
pointing  out  as  his  especial  pride,  his  avenue  of 
hollyhocks  —  crimson,  straw-color,  and  white.  De 
Quincey  showed  her  many  courtesies.  Dr.  Chalmers 
talked  eloquently,  while  AVilliam  and  Mary  Howitt 
seemed  like  old  friends.  Carlyle  invited  her  to  his 
home.  ''To  interrupt  him,"  she  said,  "is  a 
physical  impossibility.  If  3'ou  get  a  chance  to 
remonstrate  for  a  moment,  he  raises  his  voice  and 
bears  3'ou  down." 

In  Paris,  Margaret  attended  the  Academy  lec- 
tures, saw  much  of  George  Sand,  waded  through 
melting  snow  at  Avignon  to  see  Laura's  tomb,  and 
at  last  was  in  Italy,  the  country  she  had  longed 
to  see.  Here  Mrs.  Jameson,  Powers,  and  Green- 
ough,    and    the    Brownings    and    Storys,   were    her 


MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL  79 

warm  friends.  Here  she  settled  down  to  systematic 
work,  trying  to  keep  her  expenses  for  six  months 
within  four  hundred  dollars.  Still,  when  most 
cramped  for  means  herself,  she  was  always  generous. 
Once,  when  living  on  a  mere  pittance,  she  loaned 
lift}'  dollars  to  a  needy  artist.  In  New  York  she 
gave  an  impecunious  author  five  hundred  dollars  to 
publish  his  book,  and,  of  course,  never  received  a 
dollar  in  return.  Yet  the  race  for  life  was  wearins: 
her  out.  So  tired  was  she  that  she  said,  "  I  should 
like  to  go  to  sleep,  and  be  born  again  into  a  state 
where  my  young  life  should  not  be  prematurely 
taxed." 

Meantime  the  struggle  for  Italian  unity  was 
coming  to  its  climax.  Mazzini  and  his  followers 
were  eager  for  a  republic.  Pius  IX.  had  given 
promises  to  the  Liberal  party,  but  afterwards  aban- 
doned it,  and  fled  to  Gaeta.  Then  Mazzini  turned 
for  help  to  the  President  of  the  French  Republic, 
Louis  Napoleon,  who,  in  his  heart,  had  no  love  for 
republics,  but  sent  an  arm}'  to  reinstate-  the  Pope. 
Rome,  when  she  found  herself  betrayed,  fought  like 
a  tiger.  Men  issued  from  the  workshops  with  their 
tools  for  weapons,  while  women  from  the  housetops 
urged  them  on.  One  night  over  one  hundred  and 
fifty  bombs  were  thrown  into  the  heart  of  the  city. 

Margaret  was  the  friend  of  Mazzini,  and  enthusi- 
astic for  Roman  liberty.  All  those  dreadful  months 
she  ministered  to  the  wounded  and  dying  in  the  hos- 
pitals, and  was  their  "  saint,"  as  they  called  her. 


80  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 

But  there  was  another  reason  wh}^  Margaret  Fuller 
loved  Italy. 

Soon  after  her  arrival  in  Rome,  as  she  was  attend- 
ing vespers  at  St.  Peter's  with  a  party  of  friends, 
she  became  separated  from  them.  Faihng  to  find 
them,  seeing  her  anxious  face,  a  young  Italian  came 
up  to  her,  and  politelj'  offered  to  assist  her.  Unable 
to  regain  her  friends,  Angelo  Ossoli  walked  with  her 
to  her  home,  though  he  could  speak  no  English,  and 
she  almost  no  Italian.  She  learned  afterward  that 
he  was  of  a  noble  and  refined  family ;  that  his 
l)rothers  were  in  the  Papal  army,  and  that  he  was 
highly  respected. 

After  this  he  saw  Margaret  once  or  twice,  when 
she  left  Rome  for  some  months.  On  her  return,  he 
renewed  the  acquaintance,  shy  and  quiet  though  he 
was,  for  her  influence  seemed  great  over  him.  His 
father,  the  Marquis  Ossoli,  had  just  died,  and  Mar- 
garet, with  her  large  heart,  sympathized  with  him, 
as  she  alone  knew  how  to  sympathize.  He  joined 
the  Liberals,  thus  separating  himself  from  his  family, 
and  was  made  a  captain  of  the  Civic  Guard. 

Finally  he  confessed  to  Margaret  that  he  loved 
her,  and  that  he  "  must  marry  her  or  be  miserable." 
She  refused  to  listen  to  him  as  a  lover,  said  he  must 
marry  a  younger  woman,  —  she  was  thirty-seven,  and 
he  but  thirty,  —  but  she  would  be  his  friend.  For 
weeks  he  was  dejected  and  unhappy.  She  debated 
the  matter  with  her  own  heart.  Should  she,  who  had 
had  many  admirers,  now  marry  a  man  her  junior, 


MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLI.  81 

and  not  of  surpassing  intellect,  like  her  own?  If 
she  married  him,  it  must  be  kept  a  secret  till  his 
father's  estate  was  settled,  for  marriage  with  a 
Protestant  would  spoil  all  prospect  of  an  equitable 
division. 

Love  conquered,  and  she  married  the  young 
Marquis  Ossoli  in  December,  1847.  He  gave  to 
Margaret  the  kind  of  love  which  lasts  after  marriage, 
veneration  of  her  ability  and  her  goodness.  "  Such 
tender,  unselfish  love,"  writes  Mrs.  Story,  "I  have 
rarely  before  seen  ;  it  made  green  her  days,  and  gave 
her  an  expression  of  peace  and  serenity  which  before 
was  a  stranger  to  her.  When  she  was  ill.  he  nursed 
and  watched  over  her  with  the  tenderness  of  a 
woman.  No  service  was  too  trivial,  no  sacrifice  too 
great  for  him.  '  How  sweet  it  is  to  do  little  things 
for  you,'  he  would  say." 

To  her  mother,  Margaret  wrote,  though  she  did 
not  tell  her  secret,  "  I  have  not  been  so  happy  since 
I  was  a  child,  as  during  the  last  six  weeks." 

But  days  of  anxiety  soon  came,  with  all  the  horrors 
of  war.  Ossoli  was  constantl}'  exposed  to  death,  in 
that  dreadful  siege  of  Rome.  Then  Rome  fell,  and 
with  it  the  hopes  of  Ossoli  and  his  wife.  There 
would  be  neither  fortune  nor  home  for  a  Liberal 
now  —  only  exile.  Very  sadly  Margaret  said  good- 
bye to  the  soldiers  in  the  hospitals,  brave  fellows 
whom  she  honored,  who  in  the  midst  of  death  itself, 
would  cry  "  Viva  1'  Italia  !  " 

But  before  leaving  Rome,  a  day's  journey  must  be 


82  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 

made  to  Rieta,  at  the  foot  of  the  Umbrian  Apen- 
nines. And  for  what?  The  most  precious  thing  of 
Margaret's  life  was  there, — her  baby.  The  fair 
child,  with  blue  eyes  and  light  hair  like  her  own,  had 
already  been  named  by  the  people  in  the  house, 
Angelino,  from  his  beauty.  She  had  always  been 
fond  of  children.  Emerson's  Waldo,  for  whom 
Threnody  was  written  was  an  especial  favorite ; 
then  "  Pickie,"  Mr.  Greeley's  beautiful  boy,  and  now 
a  new  joy  had  come  into  her  heart,  a  child  of  her 
own.  She  wrote  to  her  mother:  "In  him  I  find 
satisfaction,  for  the  first  time,  to  the  deep  wants  of 
my  heart.  Nothing  but  a  child  can  take  the  worst 
bitterness  out  of  life,  and  break  the  spell  of  loneli- 
ness. I  shall  not  be  alone  in  other  worlds,  whenever 
Eternity  may  call  me.  ...  I  wake  in  the  night, — 
I  look  at  him.  He  is  so  beautiful  and  good,  I  could 
die  for  him  !  " 

When  Ossoli  and  Margaret  reached  Rieta,  what 
was  their  horror  to  find  their  child  worn  to  a  skeleton, 
half  starved  through  the  falsity  of  a  nurse.  For 
four  weeks  the  distressed  parents  coaxed  him  back 
to  life,  till  the  sweet  beauty  of  the  rounded  face  came 
again,  and  then  they  carried  him  to  Florence,  where, 
despite  poverty  and  exile,  they  were  happ}'. 

"  In  the  morning,"  she  says,  "  as  soon  as  dressed, 
he  signs  to  come  into  our  room ;  then  draws  our  cur- 
tain with  his  little  dimpled  hand,  kisses  me  rather 
violently,  and  pats  my  face.  ...  I  feel  so  re- 
freshed by  his  young  life,  and  Ossoli  diffuses  such  a 


MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL  83 

power  and  sweetness  over  every  day,  that  I  cannot 
endure  to  think  yet  of  our  future.  ...  It  is  very 
sad  we  have  no  money,  we  could  be  so  quietly  happy 
a  while.  I  rejoice  in  all  Ossoli  did  ;  but  the  results, 
in  this  our  earthly  state,  are  disastrous,  especially  as 
my  strength  is  now  so  impaired.  This  much  I  hope, 
—  in  life  or  death,  to  be  no  more  separated  from 
Angelino." 

Margaret's  friends  now  urged  her  return  to  Amer- 
ica. She  had  nearly  finished  a  history  of  Rome  in 
this  trying  time,  1848,  and  could  better  attend  to  its 
publication  in  this  country.  Ossoli,  though  coming 
to  a  land  of  strangers,  could  find  something  to  help 
support  the  family. 

To  save  expense,  they  started  from  Leghorn,  May 
17,  1850,  in  the  Elizabeth^  a  sailing  vessel,  though 
Margaret  dreaded  the  two  months'  voyage,  and  had 
premonitions  of  disaster.  She  wrote:  "I  have  a 
vague  expectation  of  some  crisis,  —  I  know  not  what. 
But  it  has  long  seemed  that,  in  the  year  1850,  I 
should  stand  on  a  plateau  in  the  ascent  of  life,  when 
I  should  be  allowed  to  pause  for  a  while,  and  take 
more  clear  and  commanding  views  than  ever  before. 
Yet  my  life  proceeds  as  regularly  as  the  fates  of  a 
Greek  tragedy,  and  I  can  but  accept  the  pages  as 
the}'  turn.  ...  I  shall  embark,  praying  fervently 
that  it  may  not  be  my  lot  to  lose  my  boy  at  sea, 
either  by  unsolaced  illness,  or  amid  the  howling 
waves ;  or,  if  so,  that  Ossoli,  Angelo,  and  I  may  go 
together,  and  that  the  anguish  may  be  brief." 


84  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 

For  a  few  days  all  went  well  on  shipboard  ;  and 
then  the  noble  Captain  Hasty  died  of  small-pox,  and 
was  buried  at  sea.  Angelino  took  this  dread  disease, 
and  for  a  time  his  life  was  despaired  of,  but  he  fin- 
ally recovered,  and  became  a  great  pet  with  the 
sailors.  Margaret  was  putting  the  last  touches  to 
her  book.  Ossoli  and  young  Sumner,  brother  of 
Charles,  gave  each  other  lessons  in  Italian  and  Eng- 
lish, and  thus  the  weeks  went  by. 

On  Thursday,  July  18,  after  two  months,  the  Eliz- 
abeth stood  off  the  Jersey  coast,  between  Cape  May 
and  Barnegat.  Trimks  were  packed,  good  nights 
were  spoken,  and  all  were  happy,  for  they  would  be 
in  New  York  on  the  morrow^  At  nine  that  night  a 
gale  arose  ;  at  midnight  it  was  a  hurricane  ;  at  four 
o'clock,  Friday  morning,  the  ship  struck  Fire  Island 
beach.  The  passengers  sprung  from  their  berths. 
' '  We  must  die  ! "  said  Sumner  to  Mrs.  Hasty.  "Let 
us  die  calmly,  then  !  "  was  the  response  of  the  widow 
of  the  captain. 

At  first,  as  the  billows  swept  over  the  vessel,  An- 
gelino, wet  and  afraid,  began  to  cry  ;  but  his  mother 
held  him  closely  in  her  arms  and  sang  him  to  sleep. 
Noble  courage  on  a  sinking  ship  !  The  Italian  girl 
who  had  come  with  them  was  in  terror;  but  after 
Ossoli  prayed  with  her,  she  became  calm.  For 
hours  they  waited  anxiously  for  help  from  the  shore. 
They  could  see  the  life-boat,  and  the  people  collect- 
ing the  spoils  which  had  floated  thither  from  the 
ship,  but  no  relief  came.     One  sailor  and  another 


MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL  85 

sprang  into  the  waves  and  saved  themselves.  Then 
Sumner  jumped  overboard,  but  sank. 

One  of  the  sailors  suggested  that  if  each  passen- 
ger sit  on  a  plank,  holding  on  by  ropes,  they  would 
attempt  to  push  him  or  her  to  land.  Mrs.  Hasty 
was  the  first  to  venture,  and  after  being  twice  washed 
off,  half -drowned,  reached  the  shore.  Then  Marga- 
ret was  urged,  but  she  hesitated,  unless  all  three 
could  be  saved.  Every  moment  the  danger  in- 
creased. The  crew  were  finally  ordered  "to  save 
themselves,"  but  four  remained  with  the  passengers. 
It  was  useless  to  look  longer  to  the  people  on  shore 
for  help,  though  it  was  now  past  three  o'clock,  — 
twelve  hours  since  the  vessel  struck. 

Margaret  had  finally  been  induced  to  try  the 
plank.  The  steward  had  taken  Augelino  in  his 
arms,  promising  to  save  him  or  die  with  him,  when 
a  strong  sea  swept  the  forecastle,  and  all  went  down 
toojether.     Ossoli  caus^ht  the  rio^oinor  for  a  moment, 


so 


but  Margaret  sank  at  once.  ^Vhen  last  seen,  she 
was  seated  at  the  foot  of  the  foremast,  still  clad  in 
her  white  nightdress,  with  her  hair  fallen  loose  upon 
her  shoulders.  Angelino  and  the  steward  were 
washed  upon  the  beach  twenty  minutes  later,  both 
dead,  though  warm.  Margaret's  prayer  was  an- 
swered,—  that  they  "might  go  together,  and  that 
the  anguish  might  be  brief.'* 

The  pretty  boy  of  two  years  was  dressed  in  a 
child's  frock  taken  from  his  mother's  trunk,  which 
had  come  to  shore,  laid  in   a  seaman's  chest,  and 


86  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 

buried  in  the  saud,  while  the  sailors,  who  loved  him, 
stood  around,  weeping.  His  body  was  finally  re- 
moved to  Mt.  Auburn,  and  buried  in  the  family  lot. 
The  bodies  of  Ossoli  and  Margaret  were  never  re- 
covered. The  only  papers  of  value  which  came 
to  shore  were  their  love  letters,  now  deeply  prized. 
The  book  ready  for  publication  was  never  found. 

When  those  on  sliore  were  asked  why  they  did 
not  launch  tlie  life-boat,  they  replied,  "Oh!  if  we 
had  known  there  were  any  such  persons  of  impor- 
tance on  board,  we  should  have  tried  to  do  our 
best ! " 

Thus,  at  forty,  died  one  of  the  most  gifted  women 
in  America,  when  her  work  seemed  just  begun.  To 
us,  who  see  how  the  world  needed  her,  her  death  is 
a  mj^stery  ;  to  Him  who  "  worketh  all  things  after 
the  counsel  of  His  own  will"  there  is  no  myster}^ 
She  filled  her  life  with  charities  and  her  mind  with 
knowledge,  and  such  are  ready  for  the  progress  of 
Eternity. 


MARIA    ISUTCHELL. 


MARIA  MITCHELL,  87 


MARIA   MITCHELL. 


IN  the  quiet,  picturesque  island  of  Nantucket,  in 
a  simple  borne,  lived  William  and  L3'dia  Mitchell 
with  their  family  of  ten  children.  AVilliam  had  been 
a  school-teacher,  beginning  when  he  was  eighteen 
years  of  age,  and  receiving  two  dollars  a  week  in 
winter,  while  in  summer  he  kept  soul  and  body  to- 
gether by  working  on  a  small  farm,  and  fishing. 

In  this  impecunious  condition  he  had  fallen  in 
love  with  and  married  Lydia  Coleman,  a  true-hearted 
Quaker  girl,  a  descendant  of  Benjamin  Franklin, 
one  singularly  fitted  to  help  him  make  his  way  in 
life.  She  was  quick,  intelligent,  and  attractive  in 
her  usual  dress  of  white,  and  was  the  clerk  of  the 
Friends'  meeting  where  he  attended.  She  was  en- 
thusiastic in  reading,  becoming  librarian  successively 
of  two  circulating  libraries,  till  she  had  read  every 
book  upon  the  shelves,  and  then  in  the  evenings 
repeating  what  she  had  read  to  her  associates,  her 
young  lover  among  them. 

When  they  were  married,  they  had  nothing  but 
warm  hearts  and  willing  hands  to  work  together. 
After  a  time  William  joined  his  father  in  converting 


88  MARIA   MITCHELL. 

a  ship-load  of  whale  oil  iuto  soap,  and  then  a  little 
money  was  made  ;  but  at  the  end  of  seven  ^-ears  he 
went  back  to  school-teaching  because  he  loved  the 
work.  At  first  he  had  charge  of  a  fine  grammar 
school  established  at  Nantucket,  and  later,  of  a 
school  of  his  own. 

Into  this  school  came  his  third  child,  Maria,  shy 
and  retiring,  wdth  all  her  mother's  love  of  reading. 
Faithful  at  home,  with,  as  she  says,  "  an  endless 
washing  of  dishes,"  not  to  be  wondered  at  where 
there  were  ten  little  folks,  she  was  not  less  faithful 
at  school.  The  teacher  could  not  help  seeing  that 
his  little  daughter  had  a  mind  which  would  well 
repay  all  the  time  he  could  spend  upon  it. 

AVliile  he  was  a  good  school-teacher,  he  was  an 
equally  good  student  of  nature,  born  with  a  love  of 
the  heavens  above  him.  When  eight  years  old,  his 
father  called  him  to  the  door  to  look  at  the  planet 
Saturn,  and  from  that  time  the  boy  calculated  his 
age  from  the  position  of  the  planet,  year  by  year. 
Always  striving  to  improve  himself,  when  he  became 
a  man,  he  built  a  small  observatory  upon  his  own 
land,  that  he  might  study  the  stars.  He  was  thus 
enabled  to  earn  one  hundred  dollars  a  year  in  the 
work  of  the  United  States  Coast  Survey.  Teaching 
at  two  dollars  a  week,  and  fishing,  could  not  always 
cramp  a  man  of  such  aspiring  mind. 

Brought  up  beside  the  sea,  he  was  as  broad  as 
the  sea  in  his  thought  and  true  nobilit}'  of  character. 
He  could  see  no  reason  why  his  daughters  should 


MARIA   MITCHELL.  89 

not  be  just  as  well  educated  as  his  sons.  He  there- 
fore taught  Maria  the  same  as  his  boys,  giving  her 
especial  drill  in  navigation.  Perhaps  it  is  not 
strange  that  after  such  teaching,  his  daughter  could 
have  no  taste  for  making  worsted  work  or  Kensing- 
ton stitches.  She  often  says  to  this  day,  "  A  woman 
might  be  learning  seven  languages  while  she  is  learn- 
ing fancy  work,"  and  there  is  little  doubt  that  the 
seven  languages  would  make  her  seven  times  more 
valuable  as  a  wife  and  mother.  If  teaching  navi- 
gation to  girls  would  give  us  a  thousand  Maria 
Mitchells  in  this  countrv,  by  all  means  let  it  be 
taught. 

Maria  left  the  public  school  at  sixteen,  and  for  a 
year  attended  a  private  school ;  then,  loving  mathe- 
matics, and  being  deepl}'  interested  in  her  father's 
studies,  she  became  at  seventeen  his  helper  in  the 
work  of  the  Coast  Survey.  This  astronomical  labor 
brought  Professors  Agassiz,  Bache,  and  other  noted 
men  to  the  quiet  Mitchell  home,  and  thus  the  girl 
heard  the  stimulating  conversation  of  superior  minds. 

But  the  family  needed  more  money.  Though  Mr. 
Mitchell  wrote  articles  for  Silliman's  Journal^  and 
delivered  an  able  course  of  lectures  before  a  Boston 
society  of  which  Daniel  "Webster  was  president, 
scientific  study  did  not  put  many  dollars  in  a  man's 
pocket.  An  elder  sister  was  earning  three  hundred 
dollars  yearly  by  teaching,  and  Maria  felt  that  she 
too  must  help  more  largely  to  share  the  famil}'  bur- 
dens.    She  was  offered  the  position  of  librarian  at 


90  3fARlA   MITCHELL. 

the  Nantucket  library,  with  a  salary  of  sixty  dollars 
the  first  year,  and  seventy-five  the  second.  "While  a 
dollar  and  twenty  cents  a  week  seemed  very  little, 
there  would  be  much  time  for  study,  for  the  small 
island  did  not  afford  a  continuous  stream  of  readers. 
She  accepted  the  position,  and  for  twenty  years,  till 
youth  had  been  lost  in  middle  life,  Maria  Mitchell 
worked  for  one  hundred  dollars  a  year,  studying  on, 
that  she  might  do  her  noble  work  in  the  world. 

Did  not  she  who  loved  nature,  long  for  the  open 
air  and  the  blue  sk3-,  and  for  some  da^'s  of  leisure 
which  so  man}'  girls  thoughtlessl}'  waste?  Yes, 
doubtless.  However,  the  laws  of  life  are  as  rigid 
as  mathematics.  A  person  cannot  idle  away  the 
hours  and  come  to  prominence.  No  great  singer, 
no  great  artist,  no  great  scientist,  comes  to  honor 
without  continuous  labor.  Society  devotees  are 
heard  of  only  for  a  day  or  a  3'ear,  while  those  who 
develop  minds  and  ennoble  hearts  have  lastiug 
remembrance. 

Miss  Mitchell  says,  "  I  was  born  of  only  ordinary 
capacity,  but  of  extraordinary  persistency,"  and 
herein  is  the  secret  of  a  great  life.  Sh.e^id  not 
dabble  in  French  or  music  or  painting  and  give  it 
up ;  she  went  steadily  on  to  success.  Did  she 
neglect  home  duties?  Never.  She  knit  stockings 
a  yard  long  for  her  aged  father  till  his  death,  usually 
studying  while  she  knit.  To  those  who  learn  to  be 
industrious  early  in  life,  idleness  is* never  enjoyable. 

There  was  another  secret  of  Miss  Mitchell's  sue- 


MARIA   MITCHELL.  91 

cess.  She  read  good  books  eariy  in  life.  She  sa3-s  : 
"  We  alwaj's  iiad  books,  and  were  bookish  people. 
There  was  a  public  library  in  Nautucket  before  I 
was  boru.  It  was  not  a  free  librarj',  but  we  always 
paid  the  subscription  of  one  dollar  per  annum,  and 
always  read  and  studied  from  it.  I  remember 
among  its  volumes  Hannah  More's  books  and  Rol- 
lin's  Ancient  History.  I  remember  too  that  Charles 
Folger,  the  present  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  and 
I  had  both  read  this  latter  work  through  before  we 
were  ten  3'ears  old,  though  neither  of  us  spoke  of  it 
to  the  other  until  a  later  period." 

All  this  study  had  made  Miss  Mitchell  a  superior 
woman.  It  was  not  strange,  therefore,  that  fame 
should  come  to  her.  One  autumn  night,  October, 
1847,  she  was  gazing  through  the  telescope,  as  usual, 
when,  lo !  she  was  startled  to  perceive  an  unknown 
comet.  She  at  once  told  her  father,  who  thus  wrote 
to  Professor  William  C.  Bond,  director  of  the 
Observatory  at  Cambridge  :  — 

My  Dear  Friend,  —  I  write  now  merely  to  say  that 
Maria  discovered  a  telescopic  comet  at  half-past  ten  on 
the  evening  of  the  first  instant,  at  that  hour  nearly  above 
Polaris  five  degrees.  Last  evening  it  had  advanced 
westerly;  this  evening  still  further,  and  nearing  the  pole. 
It  does  not  bear  illumination.  ]\[aria  has  obtained  its 
right  ascension  and  declination,  and  will  not  suffer  me  to 
announce  it.  Pray  tell  me  whether  it  is  one  of  Georgi's, 
and  whether  it  has  been  seen  by  anybody.  Maria  sup- 
poses it  may  be  an  old  story.  If  quite  convenient,  just 
drop  a  line  to  her;   it  will  oblige  me  much.     I  expect  to 


92  ^fABIA   MITCHELL. 

leave  home  in  a  day  or  two,  and  shall  be  in  Boston  next 
week,  and  I  would  like  to  have  her  hear  from  you  before  I 
can  meet  you.  I  hope  it  will  not  give  thee  much  trouble 
amidst  thy  close  engagements.  Our  regards  are  to  all  of 
you  most  truly. 

William  Mitchell. 

The  answer  showed  that  Miss  Mitchell  had  indeed 
made  a  new  discovery.  Frederick  YI.,  King  of  Den- 
mark, had,  sixteen  years  before,  offered  a  gold  medal 
of  the  value  of  twenty  ducats  to  whoever  should  dis- 
cover a  telescopic  comet.  That  no  mistake  might  be 
made  as  to  the  real  discoverer,  the  condition  was  made 
that  word  be  sent  at  once  to  the  Astronomer  Royal  of 
England.  This  the  Mitchells  had  not  done,  on 
account  of  their  isolated  position.  Hon.  Edward 
Everett,  then  President  of  Harvard  College,  wrote 
to  the  American  Minister  at  the  Danish  Court,  who 
in  turn  presented  the  evidence  to  the  King.  "It 
would  gratify  me,"  said  Mr.  Mitchell,  "that  this 
generous  monarch  should  know  that  there  is  a  love 
of  science  even  in  this,  to  him,  remote  corner  of  the 
earth." 

The  medal  was  at  last  awarded,  and  the  woman 
astronomer  of  Nantucket  fpund  herself  in  the 
scientific  journals  and  in  the  press  as  the  discoverer 
of  "Miss  Mitchell's  Comet."  Another  had  been 
added  to  the  list  of  Mary  Somervilles  and  Caroline 
Herschels.  Perhaps  there  was  additional  zest  now 
in  the  mathematical  work  in  the  Coast  Survey.  She 
also  assisted  in  compiling  the  American  Nautical 


MARIA  MITCHELL.  93 

Almanac^  and  wrote  for  the  scientific  periodicals. 
Did  she  break  down  from  her  unusual  brain  work? 
Oh,  no  !  ProbabW  astronomical  work  was  not  nearly 
so  hard  as  her  mother's,  — the  care  of  a  house  and 
ten  children  ! 

For  ten  years  more  Miss  Mitchell  worked  in  the 
library,  and  in  studying  the  heavens.  But  she  had 
longed  to  see  the  observatories  of  Europe,  and  the 
great  minds  outside  their  quiet  island.  Therefore, 
in  1857,  she  visited  England,  and  was  at  once 
welcomed  to  the  most  learned  circles.  Brains 
always  find  open  doors.  Had  she  been  rich  or 
beautiful  simply,  Sir  John  Herschel,  and  Lady 
Herschell  as  well,  would  not  have  reached  out  both 
hands,  and  said,  "You  are  always  welcome  at  this 
house,"  and  given  her  some  of  his  own  calculations 
and  some  of  his  Aunt  Caroline's  writing.  Had  she 
been  rich  or  handsome  simply,  Alexander  Von 
Humboldt  would  not  have  taken  her  to  his  home, 
and,  seating  himself  beside  her  on  the  sofa,  talked, 
as  she  says,  "  on  all  manner  of  subjects,  and  on  all 
varieties  of  people.  He  spoke  of  Kansas,  India, 
China,  observatories ;  of  Bache,  Maury,  Gould, 
Ticknor,  Buchanan,  Jefferson,  Hamilton,  Brunow, 
Peters,  Encke,  Airy,  Leverrier,  Mrs.  Somerville,  and 
a  host  of  others." 

AYhat  if  he  had  said  these  things  to  some 
women  who  go  abroad  !  It  is  safe  for  women  who 
travel  to  read  widely,  for  ignorance  is  quickly 
detected. 


94  MARIA   MITCHELL. 

Miss  Mitchell  said  of  Humboldt :  "  He  is  hand- 
some —  his  hair  is  thin  and  white,  his  eyes  very 
blue.  He  is  a  little  deaf,  and  so  is  Mrs.  Somerville. 
He  asked  me  what  instruments  I  had,  and  what  I 
was  doing ;  and  when  I  told  him  that  I  was  in- 
terested in  the  variable  stars,  he  said  I  must  go 
to  Bonn  and  see  Agelander." 

There  was  no  end  of  courtesies  to  the  scholarly 
woman.  Professor  Adams,  of  Cambridge,  who, 
with  his  charming  wife,  years  afterward  helped  to 
make  our  own  visit  to  the  University  a  delight, 
showed  her  the  spot  on  which  he  made  his  computa- 
tions for  Neptune,  which  he  discovered  at  the  same 
time  as  Leverrier.  Sir  George  Airy,  the  Astrono- 
mer Eoyal  of  England,  wrote  to  Leverrier  in  Paris  to 
announce  her  coming.  When  they  met,  she  said, 
"  His  English  was  worse  than  my  French." 

Later  she  visited  Florence,  where  she  met,  several 
times,  Mrs.  Somerville,  who,  she  says,  "  talks  with 
all  the  readiness  and  clearness  of  a  man,"  and  is 
still  "  very  gentle  and  womanly,  without  the  least  pre- 
tence or  the  least  coldness."  She  gave  Miss  Mitchell 
tw^o  of  her  books,  and  desired  a  photographed  star 
sent  to  Florence.  ' '  She  had  never  heard  of  its  being 
done,  and  saw  at  once  the  importance  of  such  a  step." 
She  said  with  her  Scotch  accent,  "  Miss  Mitchell, 
ye  have  done  yeself  great  credit." 

In  Rome  she  saw  much  of  the  Hawthornes,  of 
Miss  Bremer,  who  was  visiting  there,  and  of  the 
artists.     From  here  she  went  to  Venice,  Vienna,  and 


MARIA   MITCHELL.  95 

Berlin,  where  she  met  Encke,  the  astronomer,  who 
took  her  to  see  the  wedding  presents  of  the  Princess 
Royal. 

Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe,  in  an  admirable  sketch 
of  Miss  Mitchell,  tells  how  the  practical  woman, 
with  her  love  of  republican  institutions,  was  im- 
pressed. "The  presents  were  in  two  rooms,"  says 
Miss  Mitchell,  "  ticketed  and  numbered,  and  a  cata- 
logue of  them  sold.  All  the  manufacturing  compa- 
nies availed  themselves  of  the  opportunity  to  adver- 
tise their  commodities,  I  suppose,  as  she  had 
presents  of  all  kinds.  What  she  will  do  with  sixty 
albums  I  can't  see,  but  I  can  understand  the  use  of 
two  clothes-lines,  because  she  can  lend  one  to  her 
mother,  who  must  have  a  large  Monday's  wash  !  " 

After  a  year.  Miss  Mitchell  returned  to  her  sim- 
ple Nantucket  home,  as  devoted  to  her  parents  and 
her  scientific  work  as  ever.  Two  years  afterward,  in 
1860,  her  good  mother  died,  and  a  3'ear  later,  desir- 
ing to  be  near  Boston,  the  family  removed  to  Lynn. 
Here  Miss  Mitchell  purchased  a  small  house  for  six- 
teen hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  From  her  yearly 
salary  of  one  hundred  dollars,  and  what  she  could 
earn  in  her  government  work,  she  had  saved  enough 
to  buy  a  home  for  her  father  I  The  rule  is  that  the 
fathers  wear  themselves  out  for  daughters  ;  the  rule 
was  reversed  in  this  case. 

Miss  Mitchell  now  earned  five  hundred  dollars 
yearly  for  her  government  computations,  while  her 
father  received  a  pension  of  three  hundred  more  for 


96  MARIA   MITCHELL. 

his  efficient  services.     Five  years  thus  passeci  quiet- 
ly and  comfortably. 

Meanwhile  another  life  was  carrying  out  its  cher- 
ished plan,  and  Miss  Mitchell,  unknowingly,  was  to 
have  an  important  part  in  it.  Soon  after  the  Revo- 
lutionary War  there  came  to  this  country  an  English 
wool-grower  and  his  family,  and  settled  on  a  little 
farm  near  the  Hudson  River.  The  mother,  a  hard- 
working and  intelligent  woman,  w^as  eager  in  her 
help  toward  earning  a  living,  and  would  drive  the 
farm-wagon  to  market,  with  butter  and  eggs,  and 
fowls,  while  her  seven-year-old  boy  sat  beside  her. 
To  increase  the  income  some  English  ale  was  brewed. 
The  lad  grew  np  with  an  aversion  to  making  beer, 
and  when  fourteen,  his  father  insisting  that  he  should 
enter  the  business,  his  mother  helped  him  to  run  away. 
Tying  all  his  worldly  possessions,  a  shirt  and  pair  of 
stockings,  in  a  cotton  handkerchief,  the  mother  and 
her  boy  walked  eight  miles  below  Poughkeepsie, 
when,  giving  him  all  the  money  she  had,  seventy-five 
cents,  she  kissed  him,  and  with  tears  in  her  eyes  saw 
him  cross  the  ferry  and  land  safely  on  the  other 
side.  He  trudged  on  till  a  place  was  found  in  a 
country  store,  and  here,  for  five  years,  he  worked 
honestly  and  industriously,  coming  home  to  his  now 
reconciled  father  with  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
in  his  pocket. 

Changes  had  taken  place.  The  father's  brewery 
had  burned,  the  oldest  son  had  been  killed  in  at- 
tempting to  save  something  from  the  wreck,  all  were 


MARIA  MITCHELL.  97 

poorer  than  ever,  and  there  seemed  nothing  before 
the  boy  of  nineteen  but  to  help  support  the  parents, 
his  two  unmarried  sisters,  and  two  younger  brothers. 
AVhether  he  had  the  old  dislike  for  the  ale  business 
or  not,  he  saw  therein  a  means  of  support,  and 
adopted  it.  The  world  had  not  then  thought  so 
much  about  the  misery  which  intoxicants  cause,  and 
had  not  learned  that  we  are  better  off  without  stim- 
ulants than  with  them. 

Every  day  the  young  man  worked  in  his  brewery, 
and  in  the  evening  till  midnight  tended  a  small  oys- 
ter house,  which  he  had  opened.  Two  years  later, 
an  Englishman  who  had  seen  Matthew  Yassar's  un- 
tirino:  industrv  and  honestv,  offered  to  furnish  all 
the  capital  which  he  needed.  The  long,  hard  road 
of  poverty  had  opened  at  last  into  a  field  of  plenty. 
Henceforward,  w^hile  there  was  to  be  work  and 
economy,  there  was  to  be  continued  prosperity,  and 
finally,  great  wealth. 

Realizing  his  lack  of  earl}-  education,  he  began  to 
improve  himself  b}^  reading  science,  art,  historj-, 
poetry,  and  the  Bible.  He  travelled  in  Europe,  and 
being  a  close  observer,  was  a  constant  learner. 

One  day,  standing  by  the  great  London  hospital, 

built  by  Thomas  Guy,  a  relative,  and  endowed  by 

him  with  over  a  million   dollars,  Mr.  Vassar  read 

these  words  on  the  pedestal  of  the  bronze  statue  :  — 

SOLE    FOUNDER    OF   THE    HOSPITAL 

IN   HIS    LIFETIME. 

The  last  three  words  left  a  deep  impression  on 


98  MARIA  MITCHELL. 

his  miud.  He  had  no  children.  He  desired  to  leave 
his  money  where  it  would  be  of  permanent  value  to 
the  world.  He  debated  many  plans  in  his  own 
mind.  It  is  said  that  his  niece,  a  hard-working 
teacher,  Lydia  Booth,  finall}-  influenced  him  to  his 
grand  decision. 

There  was  no  real  college  for  women  in  the  land. 
He  talked  the  matter  over  with  his  friends,  but  they 
were  full  of  discouragements.  "  AVomen  will  never 
desire  college  training,"  said  some.  "  The}'  will  be 
ruined  in  health,  if  they  attempt  it,"  said  others. 
"  Science  is  not  needed  by  women ;  classical  educa- 
tion is  not  needed ;  they  must  have  something  ap- 
propriate to  their  sphere,"  was  constantly  reiterated. 
Some  wise  heads  thought  they  knew  just  what  that 
education  should  be,  and  just  what  were  the  limits  of 
woman's  sphere  ;  but  Matthew  Yassar  had  his  own 
thoughts. 

Calling  together,  Feb.  26,  1861,  some  twenty  or 
thirty  of  the  men  in  the  State  most  conversant  with 
educational  matters,  the  white-haired  man,  now 
nearly  seventy,  laid  his  hand  upon  a  round  tin  box, 
labelled  ''Yassar  College  Papers,"  containing  four 
hundred  thousand  dollars  in  bonds  and  securities, 
and  said  :  "It  has  long  been  my  desire,  after  suita- 
bly providing  for  those  of  my  kindred  who  have 
claims  upon  me,  to  make  such  a  disposition  of  my 
means  as  should  best  honor  God  and  benefit  m\' 
fellow-men.  At  different  periods  I  have  regarded 
various  plans  with  favor ;  but  these  have  all  been 


MARIA   MITCHELL.  99 

dismissed  one  after  another,  until  the  subject  of 
erecting  and  endowing  a  college  for  the  education  of 
young  women  was  presented  for  my  consideration. 
The  novelty,  grandeur,  and  benignity  of  the  idea 
arrested  my  attention. 

"  It  occurred  to  me  that  woman,  having  received 
from  the  Creator  the  same  intellectual  constitution 
as  man,  has  the  same  right  as  man  to  intellectual 
culture  and  development. 

"I  considered  that  the  mothers  of  a  country 
mould  its  citizens,  determine  its  institutions,  and 
shape  its  destiny. 

"It  has  also  seemed  to  me  that  if  woman  was 
properly  educated,  some  new  avenues  of  useful  and 
honorable  employment,  in  entire  harmony  with  the 
gentleness  and  modesty  of  her  sex,  might  be  opened 
to  her. 

"  It  further  appeared,  there  is  not  in  our  country, 
there  is  not  in  the  world,  so  far  as  known,  a  single 
fully  endowed  institution  for  the  education  of 
women.  ...  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  establishment  and  endowment  of  a  college  for 

THE    EDUCATION    OF    YOUNG    WOMEN    is    a    WOrk    which 

will  satisfy  my  highest  aspirations,  and  will  be,  under 
God,  a  rich  blessing  to  this  city  and  State,  to  our 
country  and  the  world. 

"  It  is  my  hope  to  be  the  instrument  in  the  hands 
of  Providence,  of  founding  and  perpetuating  an  in- 
stitution lolikh  shall  accomplish  for  young  women 
what  our  colleges  are  accomplishing  for  young  men." 


100  MAKIA  MITCHELL. 

For  four  years  Matthew  Vassar  watched  the 
great  buildiugs  take  form  and  shape  in  the  midst  of 
two  hundred  acres  of  lake  and  river  and  green 
sward,  near  Poughkeepsie  ;  the  main  building,  five 
hundred  feet  long,  two  hundred  broad,  and  five 
stories  high  ;  the  museum  of  natural  historv,  with 
school  of  art  and  library ;  the  great  observatory, 
three  stories  high,  furnished  with  the  then  third 
largest  telescope  in  the  countr}^ 

In  1865  Vassar  College  was  opened,  and  three 
hundred  and  fifty  students  came  pouring  in  from 
all  parts  of  the  land.  Girls,  after  all,  did  desire  an 
education  equal  to  that  of  young  men.  Matthew 
Vassar  was  right.  His  joy  seemed  complete.  He 
visited  the  college  daily,  and  always  received  the 
heartiest  welcome.  Each  year  his  birthday  was 
celebrated  as  "Founder's  Day."  On  one  of  these 
occasions  he  said  :  "  This  is  almost  more  happiness 
than  I  can  bear.  This  one  day  more  than  repays 
me  for  all  I  have  done."  An  able  and  noble  man, 
John  Howard  Raymond,  was  chosen  president. 

Mr.  Vassar  lived  but  three  years  after  his  beloved 
institution  was  opened.  June  23,  1868,  the  day 
before  commencement,  he  had  called  the  members  of 
the  Board  around  him  to  listen  to  his  customary 
address.  Suddenly,  when  he  had  nearly  finished, 
his  voice  ceased,  the  paper  dropped  from  his  hand, 
and  —  he  was  dead  !  His  last  gifts  amounted  to 
over  five  hundred  thousand  dollars,  making  in  all 
122.00  for  the  college.     The  poor  lad  wrought 


MARIA  MITCHELL.  101 

as  he  had  hoped,  a  blessing  "  to  the  country  and  the 
world."  His  nephews,  Matthew  Vassar,  Jr.,  and 
John  Guy  Vassar,  have  given  over  one  hundred  and 
fort}^  thousand  dollars. 

After  the  observatory  was  completed,  there  was 
but  one  wish  as  to  who  should  occupy  it ;  of  course, 
the  person  desired  was  Maria  Mitchell.  She  hesi- 
tated to  accept  the  position.  Her  father  was  seventy 
and  needed  her  care,  but  he  said,  "  Go,  and  I  will  go 
with  you."  So  she  left  her  Lynn  home  for  the 
arduous  position  of  a  teacher.  For  four  years  Mr. 
Mitchell  lived  to  enjoy  the  enthusiastic  work  of  his 
gifted  daughter.  He  said,  "Among  the  teachers 
and  pupils  I  have  made  acquaintances  that  a  prince 
might  covet." 

Miss  Mitchell  makes  the  observatory  her  home. 
Here  are  her  books,  her  pictures,  her  great  astro- 
nomical clock,  and  a  bust  of  Mrs.  Somerville,  the 
gift  of  Frances  Power  Cobbe.  Here  for  twenty 
3'ears  she  has  helped  to  make  Vassar  College  known 
and  honored  both  at  home  and  abroad.  Hundreds 
have  been  drawn  thitlier  b}^  her  name  and  fame.  A 
friend  of  mine  who  went,  intending  to  stay  two  years, 
remained  five,  for  her  admiration  of  and  enjoyment 
in  Miss  Mitchell.  She  says  :  "  She  is  one  of  the  few 
genuine  persons  I  have  ever  known.  There  is  not 
one  particle  of  deceit  about  her.  For  girls  who 
accomplish  something,  she  has  great  respect ;  for 
idlers,  none.  She  has  no  sentimentality,  but  much 
wit  and  common  sense.     No  one  can  be  louir  under 


102  MARIA  MITCHELL. 

her  teaching  without  learning  dignity  of  manner  and 
self-reliance." 

She  dresses  simply,  in  black  or  gra}^  somewhat 
after  the  fashion  of  her  Quaker  ancestors.  Once 
when  urging  econoni}*  upon  tlie  girls,  she  said,  "  All 
the  clothing  I  have  on  cost  but  seventeen  dollars, 
and  four  suits  would  last  each  of  you  a  year."  There 
was  a  quiet  smile,  but  no  audible  expression  of  a 
purpose  to  adopt  Miss  Mitchell's  style  of  dress. 

The  pupils  greatly  honor  and  love  the  undemon- 
strative woman,  who,  they  well  know,  would  make 
any  sacrifices  for  their  well-being.  Each  week  the 
informal  gatherings  at  her  rooms,  where  various 
useful  topics  are  discussed,  are  eagerly  looked  for- 
ward to.  Chief  of  all,  Miss  Mitchell's  own  bright 
and  sensible  talk  is  enjoyed.  Her  "  dome  parties," 
held  yearly  in  June,  under  the  great  dome  of  the 
observatory,  with  pupils  coming  back  from  all  over 
the  country,  original  poems  read  and  songs  sung, 
are  among  the  joys  of  college  life. 

All  these  3ears  the  astronomer's  fame  has  steadily 
increased.  In  1868,  in  the  great  meteoric  shower, 
she  and  her  pupils  recorded  the  paths  of  four  thou- 
sand meteors,  and  gave  valuable  data  of  their  height 
above  the  earth.  In  the  summer  of  1869  she  joined 
the  astronomers  who  went  to  Burlington,  Iowa,  to 
observe  the  total  eclipse  of  the  sun,  Aug.  7. 
Her  observations  on  the  transit  of  Venus  were  also 
valuable.  She  has  written  much  on  the  Satellites 
of  /Saturn,  and  has  prepared  a  work  on  the  /Satellites 
of  Jupiter, 


MARIA  MITCHELL.  103 

In  1873  she  again  visited  Europe,  spending  some 
time  with  the  family  of  the  Russian  astronomer, 
Professor  Struve,  at  the  Imperial  Observatory  at 
Pultowa. 

She  is  now  sixty-eight,  her  white  hair  showing 
that  she  is  growing  older.  She  is  an  honor  to  her 
sex,  a  striking  example  of  what  a  quiet  country 
girl  can  accomplish  without  money  or  fortuitous 
circumstances. 


104  lOUI^A  M.  ALCOTT. 


LOUISA   M.   ALCOTT. 


A  DOZEN  of  us  sat  about  the  dinner- table  at 
-^-^  the  Hotel  Bellevue,  Boston.  One  was  the 
gifted  wife  of  a  gifted  clergyman ;  one  had  written 
two  or  three  novels  ;  one  was  a  journalist ;  one  was 
on  the  eve  of  a  long  journey  abroad  ;  and  one,  whom 
we  were  all  glad  to  honor,  was  the  brilliant  author 
of  Little  Women.  She  had  a  womanly  face,  bright, 
gray  eyes,  that  looked  full  of  merriment,  and  would 
not  see  the  hard  side  of  life,  and  an  air  of  com- 
mon sense  that  made  all  defer  to  her  judgment. 
She  told  witty  stories  of  the  many  who  wrote  her 
for  advice  or  favors,  and  good-naturedly  gave  bits 
of  her  own  personal  experience.  Nearly  twenty 
years  before,  I  had  seen  her,  just  after  her  Hospi- 
tal jSketches  were  published,  over  which  I,  and 
thousands  of  others,  had  shed  tears.  Though  but 
thirty  years  old  then,  Miss  Alcott  looked  frail  and 
tired.  That  was  the  day  of  her  struggle  with  life. 
Now,  at  fifty,  she  looked  happy  and  comfortable. 
The  desire  of  her  heart  had  been  realized,  —  to  do 
good  to  tens  of  thousands,  and  earn  enough  money 
to  care  for  those  whom  she  loved. 


LOUISA   M.   ALCOTT. 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT.  105 

Louisa  Alcott's  life,  like  that  of  so  many  famous 
women,  has  been  full  of  obstacles.  She  was  born 
in  Germantown,  Pa.,  Nov.  29,  1832,  in  the  home 
of  an  extremely  lovely  mother  and  cultivated  father, 
Amos  Bronson  Alcott.  Beginning  life  poor,  his 
desire  for  knowledge  led  him  to  obtain  an  edu- 
cation and  become  a  teacher.  In  1830  he  married 
Miss  May,  a  descendant  of  the  well-known  Sewells 
and  Quincys,  of  Boston.  Louise  Chandler  Moulton 
says,  in  her  excellent  sketch  of  Miss  Alcott,  "I 
have  heard  that  the  May  family  were  strongly  op- 
posed to  the  union  of  their  beautiful  daughter  with 
the  penniless  teacher  and  philosopher;"  but  he 
made  a  devoted  husband,  though  poverty  was  long 
their  guest. 

For  eleven  3-ears,  mostly  in  Boston,  he  was  the 
earnest  and  successful  teacher.  Margaret  Fuller 
was  one  of  his  assistants.  Everybody  respected 
his  purity  of  life  and  his  scholarship.  His  kindness 
of  heart  made  him  opposed  to  corporal  punishment, 
and  in  favor  of  self-government.  The  world  had 
not  come  then  to  his  high  ideal,  but  has  been  creep- 
ing toward  it  ever  since,  until  whipping,  both  in 
schools  and  homes,  is  fortunately  becoming  one  of 
the  lost  arts. 

He  believed  in  making  studies  interesting  to  pu- 
pils ;  not  the  dull,  old-fashioned  method  of  learning 
by  rote,  whereby,  when  a  hymn  was  taught,  such  as, 
*'A  Charge  to  keep  I  have,"  the  cliildren  went  home  to 
repeat  to  their  astonished  mothers,  "  Eight  yards  to 


106  LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT, 

keep  I  have,"  having  learned  b}'  ear,  with  no  knowl- 
edge of  the  meaning  of  the  words.  He  had  friendh' 
talks  with  his  pupils  on  all  great  sn])jects  ;  and  some 
of  these  Miss  Elizabeth  Peabody,  the  sister  of  Mrs. 
Hawthorne,  so  greatly  enjoyed,  that  she  took  notes, 
and  compiled  them  in  a  book. 

New  England,  always  alive  to  any  theological  dis- 
cussion, at  once  pronounced  the  book  unorthodox. 
Emerson  had  been  through  the  same  kind  of  a  storm, 
and  bravel}'  came  to  the  defence  of  his  friend.  An- 
other charge  was  laid  at  Mr.  Alcott's  door  :  he  was 
willing  to  admit  colored  children  to  his  school,  and 
such  a  thing  was  not  countenanced,  except  by  a  few 
fanatics  (?)  like  AVhittier,  and  Phillips,  and  Garri- 
son. The  heated  newspaper  discussion  lessened  the 
attendance  at  the  school;  and  finally,  in  1839,  it 
was  discontinued,  and  the  Alcott  family  moved  to 
Concord. 

Here  were  gifted  men  and  women  with  whom  the 
philosopher  could  feel  at  home,  and  rest.  Here 
lived  Emerson,  in  the  two-story  drab  house,  with 
horsechestnut-trees  in  front  of  it.  Here  lived  Tho- 
reau,  near  his  beautiful  AYalden  Lake,  a  restful 
place,  with  no  sound  save,  perchance,  the  dipping 
of  an  oar  or  the  note  of  a  bird,  which  the  lonely 
man  loved  so  well.  Here  he  built  his  house,  twelve 
feet  square,  and  lived  for  two  years  and  a  half, 
giving  to  the  world  what  he  desired  others  to  give, 
—  his  inner  self.  Here  was  his  bean-field,  where  he 
' '  used  to  hoe  from  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  till 


LOUISA   M.   ALCOTT.  107 

noon,"  and  made,  as  he  said,  an  intimate  acquain- 
tance with  weeds,  and  a  pecuniary  profit  of  eight 
dollars  sevent3'-one  and  one-half  cents  !  Here,  too, 
was  Hawthorne,  "  who,"  as  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 
says,  "brooded  himself  into  a  dream-peopled  soli- 
tude." 

Here  Mr.  Alcott  could  live  with  little  expense 
and  teach  his  four  daughters.  Louisa,  the  eldest, 
was  an  active,  enthusiastic  child,  getting  into  little 
troubles  from  her  frankness  and  lack  of  polic}',  but 
making  friends  with  her  generous  heart.  Who  can 
ever  forget  Jo  in  Little  Women,  who  was  really 
Louisa,  the  girl  who,  when  reproved  for  whistling 
by  Amy,  the  art-loving  sister,  says  :  ''I  hate  affected, 
niminy-piminy  chits  !  I'm  not  a  young  lady  ;  and  if 
turning  up  my  hair  makes  me  one,  I'll  wear  it  in 
two  tails  till  I'm  twenty.  I  hate  to  think  I've  got 
to  grow  up,  and  be  Miss  March,  and  wear  long 
gowns,  and  look  as  prim  as  a  china-aster  !  Its  bad 
enough  to  be  a  girl,  anyway,  when  I  like  boy's 
games  and  work  and  manners  !  " 

At  fifteen,  "  Jo  was  very  tall,  thin,  and  brown, 
and  reminded  one  of  a  colt ;  for  she  never  seemed  to 
know  what  to  do  with  her  long  limbs,  which  were 
very  much  in  her  way.  She  had  a  decided  mouth, 
a  comical  nose,  and  sharp,  gray  eyes,  which  ap- 
peared to  see  everything,  and  were  by  turns  fierce 
or  funny  or  thoughtful.  Her  long,  thick  hair  was 
her  one  beauty,  but  it  was  usually  bundled  into  a 
net  to  be  out  of  her  way.     Round  shoulders  had  Jo, 


108  LOUISA   M.  ALCOTT. 

and  big  hands  and  feet,  a  fly-away  look  to  her 
clothes,  and  the  uncomfortable  appearance  of  a  girl 
who  was  rapidly  shooting  up  into  a  woman,  and 
did'nt  like  it." 

The  four  sisters  lived  a  merry  life  in  the  Concord 
haunts,  notwithstanding  their  scanty  means.  Now, 
at  the  dear  mother's  suggestion,  they  ate  bread  and 
milk  for  breakfast,  that  they  might  carry  their  nicely 
prepared  meal  to  a  poor  woman,  with  six  children, 
who  called  them  Engel-kinder,  much  to  Louisa's  de- 
light. Now  they  improvised  a  stage,  and  produced 
real  plays,  while  the  neighbors  looked  in  and  enjoj^ed 
the  fun. 

Louisa  was  especially  fond  of  reading  Shake- 
speare, Goethe,  Emerson,  Margaret  Fuller,  Miss 
Edgeworth,  and  George  Sand.  As  early  as  eight 
3'ears  of  age  she  wrote  a  poem  of  eight  lines.  To 
a  Robin  ^  which  her  mother  carefully  preserved, 
telling  her  that  "  if  she  kept  on  in  this  hopeful  way, 
she  might  be  a  second  Shakespeare  in  time." 
Blessings  on  those  people  who  have  a  kind  smile 
or  a  word  of  encouragement  as  we  struggle  up  the 
hard  hills  of  life  ! 

At  thirteen  she  wrote  My  Kingdom.  When, 
years  afterward,  Mrs.  Eva  Munson  Smith  wrote  to 
her,  asking  for  some  poems  for  Woman  in  Sacred 
Song^  Miss  Alcott  sent  her  this  one,  saying,  "It  is 
the  only  hymn  I  ever  wrote.  It  was  composed  at 
thirteen,  and  as  I  still  find  the  same  difficulty  in 
governing  my  kingdom,  it  still  expresses  my  soul's 
desire,  and  I  have  nothing  better  to  offer." 


LOUISA   M.  ALCOTT.  109 

"A  little  kingdom  I  possess 

Where  thoughts  and  feelings  dwell. 
And  very  hard  the  task  I  find 

Of  governing  it  well ; 
For  passion  tempts  and  troubles  me, 

A  wayward  will  misleads. 
And  selfishness  its  shadow  casts 

On  all  my  words  and  deeds. 

"  How  can  I  learn  to  rule  myself, 

To  be  the  child  I  should, 
Honest  and  brave,  and  never  tire 

Of  trying  to  be  good  ? 
How  can  I  keep  a  sunny  soul 

To  shine  along  life's  way  ? 
How  can  I  tune  my  littb  heart 

To  sweetly  sing  all  day  1 

"  Dear  Father,  help  me  with  the  love 

That  casteth  out  my  fear; 
Teach  me  to  lean  on  Thee,  and  feel 

That  Thou  art  very  near : 
That  no  temptation  is  unseen, 

No  childish  grief  too  small, 
Since  Thou,  with  patience  infinite, 

Doth  soothe  and  comfort  all. 

"  I  do  not  ask  for  any  crown, 

But  that  which  all  may  win ; 
Nor  try  to  conquer  any  world 

Except  tlie  one  within. 
Be  Thou  my  guide  until  I  find. 

Led  by  a  tender  hand. 
Thy  happy  kingdom  in  myself. 

And  dare  to  take  command." 


110  LOUISA   M.   ALCOTT. 

Louisa  was  very  imaginative,  telling  stories  to 
her  sisters  and  her  mates,  and  at  sixteen  wrote 
a  book  for  Miss  Ellen  Emerson,  entitled  Flower 
Fables.  It  was  not  published  till  six  3'ears  later, 
and  then,  being  florid  in  style,  did  not  bring  her 
any  fame.  She  was  now  anxious  to  earn  her  sup- 
l5br't.  She  was  not  the  person  to  sit  down  idW 
and  wait  for  marriage,  or  for  some  rich  relation  to 
care  for  her  ;  but  she  determined  to  make  a  place 
in  the  world  for  herself.  She  says  in  Little  Women ^ 
'*  Jo's  ambition  was  to  do  something  very  splendid; 
what  it  was  she  had  no  idea,  as  yet,  but  left  it  for 
time  to  tell  her,"  and  at  sixteen  the  time  had  come 
to  make  the  attempt. 

She  began  to  teach  school  with  twenty  pupils. 
Ins'Eead  of  the  theological  talks  which  her  father 
gave  his  scholars,  she  told  them  stories,  which  she 
says  made  the  one  pleasant  hour  in  her  school-day. 
Now  the  long  years  of  work  had  begun  —  fifteen  of 
them — which  should  give  the  girl  such  rich  yet 
sometimes  bitter  experiences,  that  she  could  write 
the  most  fascinating  books  from  her  own  history. 
Into  her  volume  called  Work,  published  when  she 
had  become  famous,  she  put  many  of  her  own  earh' 
sorrows  in  those  of  "Christie." 

Much  of  this  time  was  spent  in  Boston.  Some- 
times she  cared  for  an  invalid  child  ;  sometimes  she 
was  a  governess  ;  sometimes  she  did  sewing,  adding 
to  her  slender  means  by  writing  late  at  night.  Oc- 
casionallv  she  went  to  the  house  of  Rev.  Theodore 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT.  Ill 

Parker,  where  she  met  Emerson,  Sumner,  Garrison, 
and  Julia  Ward  Howe.  Emerson  always  had  a  kind 
word  for  the  girl  whom  he  had  known  in  Concord, 
and  Mr.  Parker  would  take  her  by  the  hand  and  say, 
' '  How  goes  it,  my  child  ?  God  bless  you  ;  keep 
your  heart  up,  Louisa,"  and  then  she  would  go  home 
to  her  lonely  room,  brave  and  encouraged. 

At  nineteen,  one  of  her  early  stories  was  published 
in  Gleason's  PicforfaL  and  for  this  she  received  five 
dollars.  How  wt'lccjine  was  this  brain-money ! 
Some  moirElTs  later  she  sent  a  story  to  tlie  Boston 
Saturday  Gazette,  entitled  The  Eical  Prima  Donnas, 
and,  to  her  great  delight,  received  ten  dollars  ;  and 
what  was  almost  better  still,  a  request  from  the 
editor  for  another  story.  Miss  Alcott  made  the 
Eival  Prima  Donnas  into  a  drama,  and  it  was 
accepted  by  a  theatre,  and  would  have  been  put 
upon  the  stage  but  for  some  disagreement  among 
the  actors.  However,  the  young  teacher  received 
for  her  work  a  pass  to  the  theatre  for  forty  nights. 
She  even  meditated  going  upon  the  stage,  but  the 
manager  quite  opportunely  broke  his  leg,  and  the 
contract  was  annulled.  What  would  the  boys  and 
girls  of  America  have  lost,  had  their  favorite  turned 
actress  ! 

A  second  story  was,  of  course,  written  for  the 
Saturday  Evening  Gazette.  And  now  Louisa  was 
catching  a  glimpse  of  fiime.  She  says,  "  One  of  the 
memorial  moments  of  my  life  is  that  in  which,  as  I 
trudged  to  school  on  a  wintry  day,  my  eye  fell  upon 


112  LOUISA   M.  ALCOTT. 

a  large  yellow  poster  with  these  delicious  words  : 
'  Bertha^  a  new  tale  by  the  author  of  The  Rival 
Prima  Donnas^  will  appear  iu  the  Saturday  Evening 
Gazette.'  I  was  late  ;  it  was  bitter  cold  ;  people 
jostled  me  ;  I  was  mortally  afraid  I  should  be  recog- 
nized ;  but  there  I  stood,  feasting  my  eyes  on  the 
fascinating  poster,  and  saying  proudly  to  myself,  in 
the  words  of  the  great  Vincent  Crummies,  'This, 
this  is  fame  ! '  That  day  my  pupils  had  an  indul- 
gent teacher  ;  for,  while  they  struggled  with  their 
pot-hooks,  I  was  writing  immortal  works  ;  and  when 
they  droned  out  the  multiplication  table,  I  was 
counting  up  the  noble  fortune  my  pen  was  to  earn 
for  me  in  the  dim,  deliglitfiil  future.  That  after- 
noon my  sisters  made  a  pilgrimage  to  behold  this 
famous  placard,  and  finding  it  torn  by  the  wind, 
boldly  stole  it,  and  came  home  to  wave  it  like  a 
triumphal  banner  in  the  bosom  of  the  excited  famil3\ 
The  tattered  paper  still  exists,  folded  away  with 
other  relics  of  those  early  days,  so  hard  and  yet  so 
sweet,  when  the  first  small  victories  were  won,  and 
the  enthusiasm  of  youth  lent  romance  to  life's 
drudgery." 

Finding  that  there  was  money  in  sensational 
stories,  she  set  herself  eagerly  to  work,  and  soon 
could  write  ten  or  twelve  a  month.  She  says  in 
Little  Women :  "  As  long  as  The  Sjyread  Eagle  paid 
her  a  dollar  a  column  for  her  '  rubbish,'  as  she  called 
it,  Jo  felt  herself  a  woman  of  means,  and  spun  her 
little    romances    diligently.      But   great   plans    fer- 


LOUISA   M.  ALCOTT.  113 

mented  in  her  busy  brain  and  ambitious  mind,  and 
the  old  tin  kitchen  in  the  garret  held  a  slowly 
increasing  pile  of  blotted  manuscript,  which  was 
one  day  to  place  the  name  of  March  upon  the  roll 

of  fame." 

But  sensational  stories  did  not  bring  much  fame, 
and  the"  conscientious  Louisa  tired  of  them.  A 
novel.  Moods,  written  at  eighteen,  shared  nearly  the 
same  fate  as  Floicer  Fables.  Some  critics  praised, 
some  condemned,  but  the  great  world  was  indiffer- 
ent. After  this,  she  offered  a  story  to  Mr.  James 
T.  Fields,  at  that  time  editor  of  the  Atlantic  Monthly, 
but  it  was  declined,  with  the  kindly  advice  that  she 
stick  to  her  teaching.  But  Louisa  Alcott  had  a 
strong  will  and  a  brave  heart,  and  would  not  be 
overcome  by  obstacles. 

The  Civil  War  had  begun,  and  the  school-teacher's 
heart  was  deeply  moved.     She  was  now  thirty,  hav- 
ing had  such  experience  as  makes  us  very  tender 
toward  suffering.     The  perfume  of  natures  does  not 
usuallv  come  forth  without  bruising.    She  determined 
to  go  to  Washington  and  offer  herself  as  a  nurse  at 
the  hospital  for  soldiers.     After  much  official  red 
tape,  she  found  herself  in  the  midst  of  scores  of 
maimed  and  dying,  just  brought  from  the  defeat  at 
Fredericksburg.     She  says  :  ''  Round  the  great  stove 
was  gathered   the   dreariest  group  I  ever  saw, — 
ragged,  gaunt,  and  pale,   mud  to  the  knees,  with 
bloody  bandages  untouched  since  put  on  days  be- 
fore ;    many  bundled  up  in  blankets,   coats  being 


114  LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT. 

lost  or  useless,  aud  all  wearing  that  disheartened 
look  which  proclaimed  defeat  more  plainly  than  any 
telegram,  of  the  Burnside  blunder.  I  pitied  them 
so  much,  I  dared  not  speak  to  them.  I  yearned  to 
serve  the  dreariest  of  them  all. 

'•Presenth'  there  came  an  order,  'Tell  them  to 
take  off  socks,  coats,  and  shirts  ;  scrub  them  well, 
put  on  clean  shirts,  and  the  attendants  will  finish 
them  off,  and  lay  them  in  bed.' 

"  I  chanced  to  light  on  a  withered  old  Irishman," 
she  says,  '"•  wounded  in  the  head,  which  caused  that 
portion  of  his  frame  to  be  tastefully  laid  out  like  a 
garden,  the  bandages  being  the  walks,  and  his  hair 
the  shrubbery.  He  was  so  overpowered  b}'  the 
honor  of  having  a  lad}'  wash  him,  as  he  expressed 
it,  that  he  did  nothing  but  roll  up  his  eyes  and  bless 
me,  in  an  irresistible  style  which  was  too  much  for 
my  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  so  we  laughed  together ; 
and  when  I  knelt  down  to  take  off  his  shoes,  he 
wouldn't  hear  of  my  touching  '  them  dirty  craters.' 
Some  of  them  took  the  performance  like  sleepy 
children,  leaning  their  tired  heads  against  me  as  I 
worked ;  others  looked  grimly  scandalized,  and 
several  of  the  roughest  colored  like  bashful  girls." 

AYhen  food  was  brought,  she  fed  one  of  the  badl}' 
wounded  men,  and  offered  the  same  help  to  his 
neighbor.  "  Thank  you,  ma'am,"  he  said,  "  I  don't 
think  I'll  ever  eat  again,  for  I'm  shot  in  the  stomach. 
But  I'd  like  a  drink  of  water,  if  you  ain't  too  busy." 

"I   rushed  away,"   she    says;   ''but   the   water- 


LOUISA  M.   ALCOTT.  115 

pails  were  gone  to  be  refilled,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  they  reappeared.  I  did  not  forget  my  patient, 
meanwhile,  and,  with  the  first  mngfnl,  hurried  back 
to  him.  He  seemed  asleep  ;  but  something  in  the 
tired  white  face  caused  me  to  listen  at  his  lips  for  a 
breath.  None  came.  I  touched  his  forehead ;  it 
was  cold  ;  and  then  1  knew  that,  while  he  waited,  a 
better  nurse  than  I  had  given  him  a  cooler  draught, 
and  healed  him  with  a  touch.  I  laid  the  sheet  over 
the  quiet  sleeper,  whom  no  noise  could  now  disturb  ; 
and,  half  an  hour  later,  the  bed  was  empty." 

With  cheerful  face  and  warm  heart  she  went 
among  the  soldiers,  now  writing  letters,  now  wash- 
ing faces,  and  now  singing  lullabies.  One  day  a 
tall,  manly  fellow  was  brought  in.  He  seldom 
spoke,  and  uttered  no  complaint.  After  a  little, 
when  his  wounds  were  being  dressed,  Miss  Alcott 
observed  the  big  tears  roll  down  his  cheeks  and  drop 
on  the  floor. 

She  says:  "My  heart  opened  wide  and  took 
him  in,  as,  gathering  the  bent  head  in  my  arms, 
as  freely  as  if  he  had  been  a  child,  I  said,  '  Let 
me  help  you  bear  it,  John  ! '  Never  on  any  human 
countenance  have  I  seen  so  swift  and  beautiful  a 
look  of  gratitude,  surprise,  and  comfort  as  that 
which  answered  me  more  eloquently  than  the  whis- 
pered — 

"  '  Thank  you,  ma'am  ;  this  is  riglit  good  !  this  is 
what  I  wanted.' 

"  '  Then  whv  not  ask  for  it  before  ? ' 


116  LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT. 

"'I  didn't  like  to  be  a  trouble,  yon  seemed  so 
busy,  and  I  could  manage  to  get  on  alone.'  " 

The  doctors  had  told  Miss  Alcott  that  John  must 
die,  and  she  must  take  the  message  to  him  ;  but  she 
had  not  the  heart  to  do  it.  Oue  evening  he  asked 
her  to  write  a  letter  for  him.  "  Shall  it  be  addressed 
to  wife  or  mother,  John  ?  " 

"  Neither,  ma'am  ;  I've  got  no  wife,  and  will  write 
to  mother  myself  when  I  get  better.  Mother's  a 
a  widow ;  I'm  the  oldest  child  she  has,  and  it 
wouldn't  do  for  me  to  marry  until  Lizzy  has  a  home 
of  her  own,  and  Jack's  learned  his  trade  ;  for  we're 
not  rich,  and  I  must  be  father  to  the  children  and 
husband  to  the  dear  old  woman,  if  I  can." 

"  Xo  doubt  you  are  both,  John;  yet  how  came 
you  to  go  to  war,  if  you  felt  so  ?  " 

"I  went  because  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  didn't 
want  the  glory  or  the  pay  ;  I  wanted  the  right  thing 
done,  and  people  kept  sayiug  the  men  who  were  in 
earnest  ought  to  fight.  I  was  in  earnest,  the  Lord 
knows  !  but  I  held  off  as  long  as  I  could,  not  know- 
ing which  was  my  duty.  Mother  saw  the  case,  gave 
me  her  ring  to  keep  me  steady,  and  said  '  Go ' ;  so 
I  went." 

"  Do  you  ever  regret  that  you  came,  when  you  lie 
here  suffering  so  much  ?  " 

"Never,  ma'am;  I  haven't  hel[)ed  a  great  deal, 
but  I've  shown  I  was  willing  to  give  my  life,  and 
perhaps  I've  got  to.  .  .  .  This  is  my  first  battle  ;  do 
the}^  think  it's  going  to  be  my  last  ?  " 


%OUISA  3L   ALCOTT.  117 

"  I'm  afraid  tliey  do,  John." 

He  seemed  startled  at  first,  but  desired  Miss  Al- 
cott  to  write  tlie  letter  to  Jack,  because  he  could 
best  tell  the  sad  news  to  the  mother.  With  a  sigh, 
John  said,  ''  I  hope  the  answer  will  come  in  time  for 
me  to  see  it." 

Two  days  later  Miss  Alcott  was  sent  for.  John 
stretched  out  both  hands  as  he  said,  "  I  knew  you'd 
come.  I  guess  I'm  moving  on,  ma'am."  Then 
clasping  her  hand  so  close  that  the  death  marks  re- 
mained long  upon  it,  he  slept  the  final  sleep.  An 
hour  later  John's  letter  came,  and  putting  it  in  his 
hand.  Miss  Alcott  kissed  the  dead  brow  of  the  Vir- 
ginia blacksmith,  for  his  aged  mother's  sake,  and 
buried  him  in  the  government  lot. 

The  noble  teacher  after  a  while  became  ill  from 
overwork,  and  was  obliged  to  return  home,  soon 
writing  her  book.  Hospital  Sketches,  published  in 
18G5.  This  year,  needing  rest  and  change,  she 
^went  to  Europe  as  companion  to  an  invalid  ladv, 
spending  a  year  in  German3\  Switzerland,  Paris,  and 
London.  In  the  latter  city  she  met  Jean  Ingelow, 
Frances  Power  Cobbe,  John  Stuart  Mill,  George 
Lewes,  and  others,  who  had  known  of  the  brilliant 
Concord  coterie.  Such  persons  did  not  ask  if  Miss 
Alcott  were  rich,  nor  did  they  care. 

In  1868  her  father  took  several  of  her  moie  recent 
stories  to  Roberts  Brothers  to  see  about  their  publi- 
cation in  book  form.  INIr.  Thomas  Niles,  a  member 
of  the  firm,  a  man  of  refinement  and  good  judgment, 


118  LOUISA   M.  ALCOTT. 

said  :  "  We  do  not  care  just  now  for  volumes  of  col- 
lected stories.  Will  not  your  daughter  write  us  a 
new  book  consisting  of  a  single  stor}'  for  girls?" 

Miss  Alcott  feared  she  could  not  do  it,  and  set 
herself  to  w^rite  Little  Women,  to  show  the  publish- 
ers that  she  could  not  write  a  story  for  girls.  But 
she  did  not  succeed  in  convincing  them  or  the  world 
of  her  inability.  In  two  months  the  first  part  was 
finished,  and  published  October,  1868.  It  was  a 
natural,  graphic  story  of  her  three  sisters  and  her- 
self in  that  simi)le  Concord  home.  How  we,  wdio 
are  grown-up  children,  read  with  interest  about  the 
"Lawrence  boy,"  especially  if  we  had  boysof  ourown, 
and  sympathized  with  the  little  girl  who  wrote  Miss 
Alcott,  "I  have  cried  quarts  over  Beth's  sickness. 
If  you  don't  have  her  marry  Laurie  in  the  second 
part,  I  shall  never  forgive  you,  and  none  of  the  girls 
in  our  school  will  ever  read  any  more  of  your 
books.     Do  !  do  !  have  her,  please." 

The  second  part  appeared  in  April,  1869,  and 
Miss  Alcott  found  herself  famous.  The  "pile  of 
blotted  manuscript"  had  "placed  the  name  of 
March  upon  the  roll  of  fame."  Some  of  us  could 
not  be  reconciled  to  dear  Jo's  marriage  with  the 
German  professor,  and  their  school  at  Plumfield, 
when  Laurie  loved  her  so  tenderly.  We  cried  over 
Beth,  and  felt  how  strangely  like  most  young  house- 
keepers was  Meg.  How  the  tired  teacher,  and  ten- 
der-hearted nurse  for  the  soldiers  must  have 
rejoiced  at  her  success  !     "This  year,"  she  wrote  her 


LOUISA   M.   ALCOTT.  HO 

publishers,  "after  toiling  so  many  years  along  the  up- 
hill road,  always  a  hard  one  to  women  writers,  it  is 
peculiarly  grateful  to  me  to  find  the  way  growing 
easier  at  last,  with  pleasant  little  surprises  blossom- 
ing on  either  side,  and  the  rough  places  made 
smooth." 

When  Little  Men  was  announced,  fifty  thousand 
copies  were  ordered  in  advance  of  its  publication ! 
About  this  time  Miss  Alcott  visited  Rome  with  her 
artist  sister  May,  the  "  Amy"  of  Little  Women,  and 
on  her  return,  wrote  Shawl-straps,  a  bright  sketch  of 
their  journey,  followed  by  an  Old-Fashioned  Girl; 
that  charming  book  Under  the  Lilacs,  where  your 
heart  goes  out  to  Ben  and  his  dog  Sancho ;  six 
volumes  of  Aunt  Jo's  Scrap-hag;  Jack  and  Jill;  and 
others.  From  these  books  Miss  Alcott  has  already 
received  about  one  hundred  thousand  dollars. 

She  has  ever  been  the  most  devoted  of  daughters. 
Till  the  mother  went  out  of  life,  in  1877,  she 
provided  for  her  every  want.  May,  the  gifted 
youngest  sister,  who  was  married  in  Paris  in  1878 
to  Ernst  Nieriker,  died  a  year  and  a  half  later, 
leaving  her  infant  daughter,  Louisa  May  Nieriker, 
to  Miss  Alcott's  loving  care.  The  father,  who 
became  paralyzed  in  1882,  now  eighty-six  years  old, 
has  had  her  constant  ministries.  How  proud  he 
has  been  of  his  Louisa !  I  heard  him  say,  years 
ago,  "  I  am  riding  in  her  golden  chariot." 

Miss  Alcott  now  divides  her  time  between  Boston 
and  Concord.     "The  Orchards,"  the  Alcott  home 


120  LOUISA   M.   ALCOTT. 

for  twent3'-five  years,  set  in  its  frame  of  grand 
trees,  its  walls  and  doors  daintily  covered  with  May 
Alcott's  sketches,  has  become  the  home  of  the 
"  Summer  School  of  Philosophy,"  and  Miss  Alcott 
and  her  father  live  in  the  house  where  Thoreau  died. 

Most  of  her  stories  have  been  written  in  Boston, 
where  she  finds  more  inspiration  than  at  Concord. 
"She  never  had  a  study,"  says  Mrs.  Moulton ; 
"  any  corner  will  answer  to  write  in.  She  is  not 
particular  as  to  pens  and  paper,  and  an  old  atlas  on 
her  knee  is  all  the  desk  she  cares  for.  She  has  the 
wonderful  power  to  carr}^  a  dozen  plots  in  her  head 
at  a  time,  thinking  them  over  whenever  she  is  in  the 
mood.  Often  in  the  dead  waste  and  middle  of  the 
night  she  lies  awake  and  plans  whole  chapters.  In 
her  hardest  working  days  she  used  to  write  fourteen 
hours  in  the  twent3'-four,  sitting  steadilv  at  her  work, 
and  scarcely  tasting  food  till  her  daily  task  was 
done.  When  she  has  a  story  to  write,  she  goes  to 
Boston,  hires  a  quiet  room,  and  shuts  herself  up  in 
it.  In  a  montli  or  so  the  book  will  be  done,  and  its 
author  comes  out  'tired,  hungry,  and  cross,'  and 
ready  to  go  back  to  Concord  and  vegetate  for  a 
time." 

Miss  Alcott,  like  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps,  is  an 
earnest  advocate  of  woman's  suffrage,  and  temper- 
ance. When  Meg  in  Little  Women  prevails  upon 
Laurie  to  take  the  pledge  on  her  wedding-day,  the 
delighted  Jo  beams  her  approval.  In  1883  she 
writes  of  the  suffrage  reform,  "Every  3'ear  gives  me 


LOUISA  if.  ALCOTT.  121 

greater  faith  in  it, -greater  hope  of  its  success,  a 
(archer  charity  for  those  who  ca.mot  see  its  wisdom 
and  a   more  earnest  wisli  to  use  what  influence  I 
possess  for  its  advancement." 

Miss  Alcott  has  done  a  noble  work  for  her 
veneration.  Her  boolcs  have  been  translated  into 
foreign  languages,  and  expressions  of  affection 
have  come  to  her  from  both  east  and  west.  She 
savs  "  As  I  turn  mv  face  toward  sunset,  I  find  so 
-much  to  make  the  down-hill  journey  smooth  and 
lovely,  that,  lil^e  Christian,  I  go  on  my  way  rejoicing 
with  a  cheerful  heart." 


122  MARY  LYON. 


MARY   LYON. 


THERE  are  two  women  whose  memoiT  the  girls  in 
this  country  should  especially  revere,  —  Mar}' 
Lyon  and  Catharine  Beecher.  When  it  was  un- 
fashionable for  women  to  know  more  than  to  read, 
write,  and  cipher  (the  "three  R's,"  as  reading, 
writing,  and  arithmetic  were  called) ,  these  two  had 
the  courage  to  ask  that  women  have  an  education 
equal  to  men,  a  thing  which  was  laughed  at  as 
impracticable  and  impossible.  To  these  two  pioneers 
we  are  greatly  indebted  for  the  grand  educational 
advantages  for  women  to-day  in  America. 

Amid  the  mountains  of  Western  Massachusetts, 
at  Buckland,  Feb.  28,  1797,  the  fifth  of  seven 
children,  Mary  Lyon  came  into  the  world,  in  ob- 
scurity. The  little  farm-house  was  but  one  story 
high,  in  the  midst  of  rocks  and  sturdy  trees.  The 
father,  Aaron  Lyon,  was  a  godly  man,  beloved  by 
all  his  neighbors,  —  "the  peacemaker,"  he  was 
called,  —  who  died  at  forty-five,  leaving  his  little 
family  well-nigh  helpless  —  no,  not  helpless,  because 
the  mother  was  of  the  same  material  of  which  Eliza 
Garfields  are  made. 


aia 


MARY  LYON.  123 

Such  women  are  aboA-e  circumstances.  She  saw 
to  it  that  the  farm  yielded  its  best.  She  worked 
early  and  late,  always  cheerful,  always  observing 
the  Sabbath  most  devotedly,  always  keeping  the 
children  clean  and  tidy.  In  her  little  garden  the  May 
pinks  were  the  sweetest  and  the  peonies  the  reddest 
of  any  in  the  neighborhood.  One  person  begged  to 
set  a  plant  in  the  corner  of  her  garden,  sure  that  if 
Mrs.  Lyon  tended  it,  it  could  never  die.  "  How  is 
it,"  said  the  hard-working  wife  of  a  farmer,  "that 
the  widow  can  do  more  for  me  than  any  one  else?" 
She  had  her  trials,  but  she  saw  no  use  in  telling 
them  to  others,  so  with  a  brave  heart  she  took  up 
her  daily  tasks  and  performed  them. 

Little  Mary  was  an  energetic,  frank,  warm-hearted 
child,  full  of  desire  to  help  others.  Her  mind  was 
eager  in  grasping  new  things,  and  curious  in  its 
investigations.  Once,  when  her  mother  had  given 
her  some  work  to  do,  she  climbed  upon  a  chair  to 
look  at  the  hour-glass,  and  said,  as  she  studied  it, 
"  I  know  I  have  found  a  way  to  make  more  time." 

At  the  village  school  she  showed  a  remarkable 
memor}^  and  the  power  of  committing  lessons  easily. 
She  was  especially  good  in  mathematics  and  gram- 
mar. In  four  days  she  learned  all  of  Alexander's 
Grammar,  which  scholars  were  accustomed  to  com- 
mit, and  recited  it  accurately  to  the  astonished 
teacher. 

When  Mary  was  thirteen,  the  mother  married  a 
second  time,  and  soon  after  removed  to  Ohio.     The 


124  MAEY  LYON. 

girl  remained  at  the  old  homestead,  keeping  house 
for  the  only  brother,  and  so  well  did  she  do  the 
work,  that  he  gave  her  a  dollar  a  week  for  her  ser- 
vices. This  she  used  in  buying  books  and  clothes 
for  school.  Besides,  she  found  opportunities  to 
spin  and  weave  for  some  of  the  neighbors,  and  thus 
added  a  little  more  to  her  purse. 

After  five  j^ears,  the  brother  married  and  sought 
a  home  in  New  York  State.  Mary,  thus  thrown 
upon  herself,  began  to  teach  school  for  sevent3-five 
cents  a  week  and  her  board.  This  amount  would 
not  buy  many  silks  or  embroideries,  but  Mary  did 
not  care  much  for  these.  "  She  is  all  intellect," 
said  a  friend  who  knew  her  well;  "she  does  not 
know  that  she  lias  a  body  to  care  for." 

She  had  now  saved  enough  money  to  enable  her 
to  spend  one  term  at  the  Sanderson  Academy  at 
Ashfield.  What  an  important  event  in  life  that 
seemed  to  the  struggling  country  girl !  The  schol- 
ars watched  her  bright,  intellectual  face,  and  when 
she  began  to  recite,  laid  aside  their  books  to  hear 
her.  The  teacher  said,  "  I  should  like  to  see  what 
she  would  make  if  she  could  be  sent  to  college." 
When  the  term  ended,  her  little  savings  were  all 
spent,  and  now  she  must  teach  again.  If  she  only 
could  go  forward  with  her  classmates  !  but  the  laws 
of  poverty  are  inexorable.  Just  as  she  was  leaving 
the  school,  the  trustees  came  and  offered  the  advan- 
tages of  the  academy  free,  for  another  term.  Did 
ever  such  a  gleam  of  sunshine  come  into  a  cloudy 
dav? 


MAEY  LYOX.  125 

But  how  could  she  pay  her  board?  She  owned 
a  bed  and  some  table  linen,  and  taking  these  to  a 
boarding  house,  a  bargain  was  made  whereby  she 
could  have  a  room  and  board  in  exchange  for  her 
household  articles. 

Her  red-letter  days  had  indeed  come.  She  might 
never  have  a  chance  for  schooling  again  ;  so,  without 
regard  to  health,  she  slept  only  four  hours  out  of 
the  twenty-four,  ate  her  meals  hurriedly,  and  gave 
all  her  time  to  her  lessons.  Not  a  scholar  in  the 
school  could  keep  up  with  her.  When  the  teacher 
gave  her  Adams'  Lathi  Grammar^  telling  her  to 
commit  such  portions  as  were  usual  in  going  over 
the  book  the  first  time,  she  learned  them  all  in  three 
days ! 

When  the  term  closed,  she  had  no  difficulty  in 
finding  a  place  to  teach.  All  the  towns  around  had 
heard  of  the  surprising  scholar,  Marv  Lyon,  and 
probably  hoped  she  could  inspire  the  same  scholar- 
ship in  her  pupils,  a  matter  in  which  she  was  most 
successful. 

As  soon  as  her  schools  were  finished,  she  would 
spend  the  money  in  obtaining  instruction  in  some 
particular  study,  in  which  she  thought  herself  defi- 
cient. Now  she  would  go  into  the  family  of  Rev. 
Edward  Hitchcock,  afterward  president  of  Amherst 
College,  and  study  natural  science  of  him,  mean- 
time taking  lessons  of  his  wife  in  drawing  and 
painting.  Now  she  would  study  penmanship,  fol- 
lowing the  copy  as  closely  as  a  child.     Once  when 


126  3IARY  LYON. 

a  teacher,  in  deference  to  her  reputation,  wrote  the 
copy  in  Lutin,  she  handed  it  back  and  asked  him  to 
write  in  English,  lest  when  the  books  were  exam- 
ined, she  might  be  thought  wiser  than  she  really 
was.  Thus  conscientious  was  the  j'oung  school- 
teacher. 

She  was  now  twenty -four,  and  had  laid  up  enough 
mone}^  to  attend  the  school  of  Rev.  Joseph  Emerson, 
at  Byfield.  He  was  an  unusual  man  in  his  gifts  of 
teaching  and  broad  views  of  life.  He  had  been 
blest  with  a  wife  of  splendid  talents,  and  as  Miss 
L3'on  was  wont  to  say,  "Men  judge  of  the  whole 
sex  by  their  own  wives,"  so  Mr.  Emerson  believed 
women  could  understand  metaphysics  and  theology 
as  well  as  men.  He  discussed  science  and  religion 
with  his  pupils,  and  the  result  was  a  class  of  self- 
respecting,  self-reliant,  thinking  women. 

Miss  Lyon's  friends  discouraged  her  going  to 
Byfield,  because  they  thought  she  knew  enough 
already.  "  Why,"  said  they,  "  you  will  never  be  a 
minister,  and  what  is  the  need  of  going  to  school?" 
She  improved  her  time  here.  One  of  her  classmates 
wrote  home,  "Mary  sends  love  to  all;  but  time 
with  her  is  too  precious  to  spend  it  in  writing  letters. 
She  is  gaining  knowledge  by  handfuls." 

The  next  year,  an  assistant  was  wanted  in  the 
Sanderson  Academy.  The  principal  thought  a  man 
must  be  engaged.  "Try  Mary  Lyon,"  said  one  of 
her  friends,  "and  see  if  she  is  not  sufficient,"  and 
he  employed  her,  and  found  her  a  host.     But  she 


3fAEY  LYON.  127 

could  not  long  be  retained,  for  she  was  wanted  in  a 
larger  field,  at  Derry,  X.  H.  Miss  Grant,  one  of  the 
teachers  at  Mr.  Emerson's  school,  had  sent  for  her 
former  bright  pupil.  Mary  was  glad  to  be  associ- 
ated with  Miss  Grant,  for  she  was  very  fond  of  her  ; 
but  before  going,  she  must  attend  some  lectures  in 
chemistry  and  natural  history  by  Professor  Eaton  at 
Amherst.  Had  she  been  a  young  man,  how  easily 
could  she  have  secured  a  scholarship,  and  thus 
worked  her  way  through  college  ;  but  for  a  young 
woman,  neither  Amherst,  nor  Dartmouth,  nor  Wil- 
liams, nor  Harvard,  nor  Yale,  with  all  their  wealth, 
had  an  open  door.  Very  fond  of  chemistry,  she 
could  only  learn  in  the  spare  time  which  a  busy 
professor  could  give. 

Was  the  cheerful  girl  never  despondent  in  these 
hard  working  years?  Yes;  because  naturally  she 
was  easily  discouraged,  and  would  have  long  fits  of 
weeping ;  but  she  came  to  the  conclusion  that  such 
seasons  of  depression  were  wrong,  and  that  "  there 
was  too  much  to  be  done,  for  her  to  spend  her  time 
in  that  manner."  She  used  to  tell  her  pupils  that 
"if  they  were  unhappy,  it  was  probably  because 
they  had  so  many  thoughts  about  themselves,  and 
so  few  about  the  happiness  of  others."  The  friend 
who  had  recommended  her  for  the  Sanderson 
Academy  now  became  surety  for  her  for  forty  dol- 
lars' worth  of  clothing,  and  the  earnest  young  woman 
started  for  Derry.  The  school  there  numbered 
ninety  pupils,   and  Mary  Lyon   was  happy.      She 


128  3fARY  LYON-. 

wrote  her  mother,  "I  do  not  number  it  among  the 
least  of  my  blessings  that  I  am  permitted  to  do 
somethi)i(j.  Surely  I  ought  to  be  thankful  for  an 
active  life." 

But  the  Derry  school  was  held  only  in  the  summers, 
so  Miss  Lyon  came  back  to  teach  at  Ashfield  and 
Buckland,  her  birthplace,  for  the  winters.  The  first 
season  she  had  twenty-five  scholars  ;  the  last,  one 
hundred.  The  families  in  the  neighborhood  took 
the  students  into  their  homes  to  board,  charoino- 
them  one  dollar  or  one  dollar  and  twenty-five  cents 
per  week,  while  the  tuition  was  twenty-five  cents  a 
week.  No  one  would  grow  very  rich  on  such  an 
income.  So  popular  was  Miss  Lyon's  teaching  that 
a  suitable  building  was  erected  for  her  school,  and 
the  Ministerial  Association  passed  a  resolution  of 
praise,  urging  her  to  remain  permanently  in  the 
western  part  of  Massachusetts. 

However,  Miss  Grant  had  removed  to  Ipswich, 
and  had  urged  Miss  Lyon  to  join  her,  which  she  did. 
For  six  years  they  taught  a  large  and  most  success- 
ful school.  Miss  Lyon  was  singularly  happj^  in  her 
intercourse  with  the  young  ladies.  She  won  them 
to  her  views,  while  they  scarcely  knew  that  they  were 
being  controlled.  She  would  sa}'  to  them  :  "  Now, 
young  ladies,  you  are  here  at  great  expense.  Your 
board  and  tuition  cost  a  great  deal,  and  your  time 
ought  to  be  worth  more  than  both  ;  but,  in  order  to 
get  an  equivalent  for  the  money  and  time  you  are 
spending,  you  must  be  systematic,  and  that  is  im- 


MARY  LYON.  129 

possible,  unless  you  have  a  regular  hour  for  rising. 
.  .  .  Persons  who  run  round  all  day  after  the  half- 
hour  they  lostJnJ;he  morning  never  accomplish  much. 
'You  may  know  them  by  a  rip  in  the  glove,  a  string 
pinned  to  the  bonnet,  a  shawl  left  on  the  balustrade, 
which  they  had  no  time  to  hang  up,  they  were  in 
such  a  hurrs'  to  catch  their  lost  thirty  minutes. 
You  will  see  them  opening  their  books  and  trying 
to  study  at  the  time  of  general  exercises  in  school ; 
but  it  is  a  fruitless  race  ;  they  never  will  overtake 
their  lost  half-hour.  Good  men,  from  Abraham  to 
Washington,  have  been  early  risers."  Again,  she 
would  say,  "  Mind,  wherever  it  is  found,  will  secure 
respect.  .  .  .  Educate  the  women,  and  the  men 
will  be  educated.  Let  the  ladies  understand  the 
great  doctrine  of  seeking  the  greatest  good,  of  lov- 
ing their  neighbors  as  themselves  ;  let  them  indoc- 
trinate their  children  in  this  fundamental  truth,  and 
we  shall  have  wise  legislators." 

"You  won't  do  so  again,  will  you,  dear?"  was 
almost  always  sure  to  win  a  tender  response  from  a 
pupil. 

She  would  never  allow  a  scholar  to  be  laughed  at. 
If  a  teacher  spoke  jestingly  of  a  scholar's  capacity. 
Miss  Lyon  would  say,  "  Yes,  I  know  she  has  a 
small  mind,  but  we  must  do  the  best  we  can  for 
her." 

For  nearly  sixteen  years  she  had  been  giving  her 
life  to  the  education  of  girls.  She  had  saved  no 
money  for  herself,  giving  it  to  her  relatives  or  aid- 


130  2fABY  LYON. 

iiig  poor  girls  in  going  to  school.  She  was  simple 
iu  her  tastes,  the  blue  cloth  dress  she  generally 
wore  having  been  spun  and  woaxmi  by  herself.  A 
friend  tells  how,  standing  before  the  mirror  to  tie 
her  bonnet,  she  said,  "  Well,  I  may  fail  of  Heaven, 
but  I  shall  be  very  much  disappointed  if  I  do^ — ^very 
much  disappointed;  "  and  there  was  no  thought  of 
what  she  was  doing  with  the  ribbons. 

Miss  Lyon  was  now  thirt3'-three  years  old.  It 
would  be  strange  indeed  if  a  woman  with  her  bright 
mind  and  sunshiny  face  should  not  have  offers  of 
marriage.  One  of  her  best  opportunities  came,  as 
is  often  the  case,  when  about  thirt\',  and  Miss  Lyon 
could  have  been  made  supremely  happy  b}'  it,  but 
she  had  in  her  mind  one  great  purpose,  and  she  felt 
that  she  must  sacrifice  home  and  love  for  it.  This 
was  the  building  of  a  high-grade  school  or  college  for 
women.  Had  she  decided  otherwise,  there  probably 
would  have  been  no  Mount  Holyoke  Seminary. 

She  had  the  tenderest  sympathy  for  poor  girls  ; 
they  were  the  ones  usually  most  desirous  of  an  edu- 
cation, and  they  struggled  the  hardest  for  it.  For 
them  no  educational  societies  were  provided,  and  no 
scholarships.  Could  she,  who  had  no  money,  build 
"a  seminary  which  should  be  so  moderate  in  its  ex- 
penses as  to  be  open  to  the  daughters  of  farmers  and 
artisans,  and  to  teachers  who  might  be  mainly  de- 
pendent for  their  support  on  their  own  exertions  "  ? 

In  vain  she  tried  to  have  the  school  at  Ipswich  es- 
tablished permanently  by  buildings  and  endowments. 


MARY  LYON.  131 

In  vain  she  talked  with  college  presidents  and 
learned  ministers.  Nearly  all  were  indifferent. 
They  could  see  no  need  that  women  should  study 
science  or  the  classics.  That  women  would  be  hap- 
pier with  knowledge,  just  as  they  themselves  were 
made  happier  by  it,  seemed  never  to  have  occurred 
to  them.  That  women  were  soon  to  do  nine-tenths 
of  the  teaching  in  the  schools  of  the  countr3'  could 
not  be  foreseen.  Oberlin  and  Cornell,  Vassar  and 
Wellesley,  belonged  to  a  golden  age  as  yet  undreamed 
of. 

For  two  years  she  thought  over  it,  and  prayed 
over  it,  and  when  all  seemed  hopeless,  she  would 
walk  the  floor,  and  say  over  and  over  again,  "Com- 
mit thj'  way  unto  the  Lord.  He  will  keep  thee. 
Women  7mtst  be  educated  ;  they  must  be."  Finally 
a  meeting  was  called  in  Boston  at  the  same  time  as 
one  of  the  religious  anniversaries.  She  wrote  to  a 
friend,  "  Very  few  were  present.  The  meeting  was 
adjourned  ;  and  the  adjourned  meeting  utterly  failed. 
There  were  not  enough  present  to  organize,  and 
there  the  business,  in  my  view,  has  come  to  an 
end." 

Still  she  carried  the  burden  on  her  heart.  She 
writes,  in  1834,  "  During  the  past  year  my  heart 
has  so  yearned  over  the  adult  female  j'outh  in  the 
common  walks  of  life,  that  it  has  sometimes  seemed 
as  though  a  fire  were  shut  up  in  my  bones."  She 
conceived  the  idea  of  h.aving  the  young  women  do 
the  work  of  the  house,  partly  to  lessen  expenses, 


132  3IARY  LYON. 

partly  to  teach  them  useful  things,  and  also  because 
she  says,  "Might  uot  this  single  feature  do  away 
much  of  the  prejudice  against  female  education 
among  common  people  ?  " 

At  last  the  purpose  in  her  heart  became  so  strong 
that  she  resigned  her  position  as  a  teacher,  and  went 
from  house  to  house  in  Ipswich  collecting  funds. 
She  wrote  to  her  mother,  "I  hope  and  trust  that 
this  is  of  the  Lord,  and  that  He  will  prosper  it.  In 
this  movement  I  have  thought  much  more  constantly, 
and  have  felt  much  more  deeply,  about  doing  that 
which  shall  be  for  the  honor  of  Christ,  and  for  the 
good  of  souls,  than  I  ever  did  in  any  step  in  my  life." 
She  determined  to  raise  her  first  thousand  dollars 
from  women.  She  talked  in  her  good-natured  way 
with  the  father  or  the  mother.  She  asked  if  they 
wanted  a  new  shawl  or  card-table  or  carpet,  if  they 
would  not  find  a  way  to  procure  it.  Usually  they 
gave  five  or  ten  dollars  ;  some,  only  a  half-dollar.  So 
interested  did  two  ladies  become  that  they  gave  one 
hundred  dollars  apiece,  and  later,  when  their  house 
was  burned,  and  the  man  who  had  their  money  in 
charge  lost  it,  thej-  worked  with  their  own  hands 
and  earned  the  two  hundred,  that  their  portion 
might  not  fail  in  the  great  work. 

In  less  than  two  months  she  had  raised  the  thou- 
sand ;  but  she  wrote  Miss  Grant,  "  I  do  uot  recollect 
being  so  fatigued,  even  to  prostration,  as  I  have 
been  for  a  few  weeks  past."  She  often  quoted  a 
remark  of  Dr.  Lyman  Beecher's,  "  The  wear  and 


MARY  LYON.  133 

tear  of  what  I  canuot  do  is  a  great  deal  more  than 
the  wear  and  tear  of  what  I  do."  When  she  became 
quite  worn,  her  habit  was  to  sleep  nearly  all  the 
time,  for  two  or  three  days,  till  nature  repaired  the 
system. 

She  next  went  to  Amherst,  where  good  Dr. 
Hitchcock  felt  as  deeply  interested  for  girls  as  for 
the  boys  in  his  college.  One  January  morning, 
with  the  thermometer  below  zero,  three  or  four 
hours  before  sunrise,  he  and  Miss  Lyon  started  on 
the  stage  for  Worcester.  Each  was  wrapped  in  a  buf- 
falo robe,  so  that  the  long  ride  was  not  unpleasant. 
A  meeting  was  to  be  held,  and  a  decsion  made  as  to 
the  location  of  the  seminar}-,  which,  at  last,  was 
actually  to  be  built.  After  a  long  conference. 
South  Hadley  was  chosen,  ten  miles  south  of  Am- 
herst. 

One  by  one,  good  men  became  interested  in  the 
matter,  and  one  true-hearted  minister  became  an 
agent  for  the  raising  of  funds.  Miss  Lyon  was 
also  untiring  in  her  solicitations.  She  spoke 
before  ladies'  meetinos,  and  visited  those  in  hio;h 
station  and  low.  So  troubled  were  her  friends 
about  this  public  work  for  a  woman,  that  they 
reasoned  with  her  that  it  was  in  better  taste  to  stay 
at  home,  and  let  gentlemen  do  the  work. 

"What  do  I  that  is  wrong?"  she  replied.  "I 
ride  in  the  stage  coach  or  cars  without  an  escort. 
Other  ladies  do  the  same.  I  visit  a  family  where  I 
have   been    previously    invited,    and  the    minister's 


134  MARY  LYON. 

wife,  or  some  leading  woman,  calls  the  ladies  to- 
gether to  see  me,  and  I  lay  our  object  before  them. 
Is  that  wrong?  I  go  with  Mr.  Hawks  [the  agent], 
and  call  on  a  gentleman  of  known  liberality,  at  his 
own  house,  and  converse  with  him  about  our  enter- 
prise. What  harm  is  there  in  that?  My  heart  is 
sick,  my  soul  is  pained,  with  this  empty  gentility, 
this  o-enteel  nothingness.  I  am  doino^  a  2:reat  work. 
I  cannot  come  down."  Pitiful,  that  so  noble  a 
woman  should  have  been  hampered  by  public 
opinion.  How  all  this  has  changed !  Now,  the 
world  and  the  church  gladh'  welcome  the  voice,  the 
hand,  and  the  heart  of  woman  in  their  philanthropic 
work. 

At  last,  enough  money  was  raised  to  begin  the 
enterprise,  and  the  corner-stone  of  Mount  Holyoke 
Seminary  was  laid,  Oct.  3,  1836.  "  It  was  a 
day  of  deep  interest,"  writes  Mary  Lyon.  "  The 
stones  and  brick  and  mortar  speak  a  language  which 
vibrates  through  my  very  soul." 

With  thankful  heart  and  busy  hands  she  watched 
the  progress  of  the  work.  Every  detail  was  under 
her  careful  eye.  She  said:  "Had  I  a  thousand 
lives,  I  could  sacrifice  them  all  in  suffering  and 
hardship,  for  the  sake  of  Mount  Holyoke  Seminary. 
Did  I  possess  the  greatest  fortune,  I  could  readily 
relinquish  it  all,  and  become  poor,  and  more  than 
poor,  if  its  prosperity  should  demand  it." 

Finally,  in  the  autumn  of  1837,  the  seminary  was 
ready  for  pupils.     The  main  building,  four  stories 


3fARY  LYON.  135 

high,  had  been  erected.  An  admirable  course  of 
study  had  been  provided.  For  the  forty  weeks 
of  the  school  year,  the  charges  for  board  and  tuition 
were  sixty  dollars,  —  only  one  dollar  and  twenty -five 
cents  per  week.  Miss  Lyon's  own  salary  was  but 
two  hundred  a  3'ear  and  she  never  would  deceive 
anytliing  higher.  The  accommodations  were  only 
for  eighty  pupils,  but  one  hundred  and  sixteen  came 
the  first  yeaK  ~' 

While  Miss  Lyon  was  heartily  loved  by  her 
scholars,  they  yet  respected  her  good  discipline. 
It  was  against  the  rules  for  any  one  to  absent  her- 
self from  meals  without  permission  to  do  so.  One 
of  the  young  ladies,  not  feeling  quite  as  fresh  as 
usual,  concluded  not  to  go  down  stairs  at  tea  time, 
and  to  remain  silent  on  the  subject.  Miss  Lyon's 
quick  eye  detected  her  absence.  Calling  the  girl's 
room-mate  to  her,  she  asked,  "  Is  Miss ill?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  was  the  reph',  "  only  a  little  indis- 
posed, and  she  commissioned  me  to  carry  her  a  cup 
of  tea  and  cracker." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  see  to  it." 

After  supper,  the  young  lady  ascended  to  her 
room,  in  the  fourth  story,  found  her  companion 
enjoying  a  glorious  sunset,  and  seating  herself 
beside  her,  they  began  an  animated  conversation. 
Presents  there  was  a  knock.  "Come  in!"  both 
sliouted  gleefully,  when  lo !  in  walked  Mary  Lyon, 
with  the  tea  and  cracker.  She  had  come  up  four 
flights  of  stairs  ;  but  she  said  every  one^as  tired  at 


136  MARY  LYON. 

night,  and  she  could  as  well  bring  up  the  supper  as 
anybod}'.  She  inquired  with  great  kindness  about 
the-young  lady's  health,  who,  greatly  abashed,  had 
nothing  to  say.  She  was  ever  after  present  at  meal 
time,  unless  sick  in  bed. 

The  students  never  forgot  Miss  Lyon's  plain,  earn- 
est words.  When  tliey  entered,  they  were  told  that 
they  were  expected  to  do  right  without  formal  com- 
mands ;  if  not,  they  better  go  to  some  smaller 
school,  where  they  could  receive  the  peculiar  train- 
ing needed  by  little  girls.  She  urged  loose  clothing 
and  thick  shoes.  "  If  you  will  persist  in  killing 
yourselves  by  reckless  exposure,"  she  would  say, 
"  we  are  not  willing  to  take  the  responsibility  of  the 
act.  We  think,  by  all  means,  you  better  go  home 
and  die,  in  the  arms  of  your  dear  mothers." 

Miss  Lyon  had  come  to  her  fiftieth  birthday.  Her 
seminary  had  prospered  beyond  her  fondest  hopes. 
She  had  raised  nearly  seventy  thousand  dollars  for 
her  beloved  school,  and  it  was  out  of  debt.  Nearly 
two  thousand  pupils  had  been  at  South  Hadley,  of 
whom  a  large  number  had  become  missionaries  and 
teachers.  Not  a  single  year  had  passed  without  a 
revival,  and  rarely  did  a  girl  leave  the  institution 
without  professing  Christianity. 

She  said  to  a  friend  shortly  after  this  fiftieth  birth- 
day :  "  It  was  the  most  solemn  day  of  my  life.  I 
devoted  it  to  reflection  and  prayer.  Of  my  active 
toils  I  then  took  leave.  I  was  certain  that  before 
another  fifty  years  should  have    elapsed,   I  should 


MARY  LYOX.  137 

wake  up  amid  far  different  scenes,  and  far  other 
thougiits  would  fill  my  mind,  and  other  employments 
would  engage  my  attention.  I  felt  it.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  ladder  between  me  and  the  world 
above.  The  gates  were  opened,  and  I  seemed  to 
stand  on  the  threshold.  I  felt  that  the  evening  of 
my  days  had  come,  and  that  I  needed  repose." 

And  the  repose  came  soon.  The  last  of  February, 
1849,  a  young  lady  in  the  seminar}'  died.  Miss  Lyon 
called  the  girls  together  and  spoke  tenderly  to  them, 
urging  them  not  to  fear  death,  but  to  be  ready  to 
meet  it.  She  said,  "There  is  nothing  in  the  uni- 
verse that  I  am  afraid  of,  but  that  I  shall  not  know 
aucPdo  ail  my  duty."  Beautiful  words !  carved 
shortly  after  on  her  monument. 

A  few  days  later,  Marj'  Lyon  lay  upon  her  death- 
bed. The  brain  had  been  congested,  and  she  was 
often  unconscious.  In  one  of  her  lucid  moments, 
her  pastor  said,  "Christ  precious?"  Summoning 
all  her  energies,  she  raised  both  hands,  clasped  them, 
and  said,  "Yes."  "Have  you  trusted  Christ  too 
much?"  he  asked.  Seeing  that  she  made  an  effort 
to  speak,  he  said,  "  God  can  be  glorified  by  silence." 
An  indescribal)le  smile  lit  up  her  face,  and  she  was 
gone. 

On  the  seminary  grounds  the  beloved  teacher  was 
buried,  her  pupils  singing  about  her  open  grave, 
"  AVhy  do  we  mourn  departing  friends?"  A  beau- 
tiful monument  of  Italian  marble,  square,  and  rest- 


138  3fABY  LYON. 

ing  upon  a  granite   pedestal,  marks  the  spot.     On 
the  west  side  are  the  words  :  — 

MAEY   LYOX, 

THE  FOUNDER  OF 

MOUNT  HOLYOKB  FEMALE  SEMINARY, 

AND  FOR  TWELTE  YEARS 

ITS  principal; 

A    TEACHER 
FOR    THIRTY-FIVE     YEARS, 

AND    OF   MORE    THAN 

THREE    THOUSAND    PUPILS. 

BORN,    FEBRUARY    28,    1797  ; 

DIED,    MARCH    O,    1819. 

What  a  devoted,  heroic  life  !  and  its  resnlts,  who 
can  estimate  ? 

Her  work  has  gone  steadily  on.  The  seminar}^ 
grounds  now  cover  twenty-five  acres.  The  main 
structure  has  two  large  wings,  while  a  gymnasium  ; 
a  library  building,  with  thirteen  thousand  volumes  ; 
the  Lyman  AVilliston  Hall,  with  laboratories  and  art 
gallery  ;  and  the  new  observatory,  with  fine  telescope, 
astronomical  clock,  and  other  appliances,  afford  such 
admirable  opportunities  for  higher  education  as 
noble  Mary  Lyon  could  hardly  have  dared  to  hope 
for.  The  property'  is  worth  about  three  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  How  different  from  the  days 
when  half-dollars  were  given  into  Miss  Lj'ou's  will- 
ing hands  !  Nearly  six  thousand  students  have  been 
educated  here,  three-fourths  of  whom  have  become 
teachers,  and  about  two  hundred  foreign  mission- 
aries.    Many  have  married  ministers,  presidents  of 


MARY  LYOX.  139 

colleges,  and  leading  men  in  education  and  good 
works. 

The  board  and  tuition  have  become  one  hundred 
and  seventy-five  dollars  a  year,  only  enough  to  cover 
the  cost.  The  range  of  study  has  been  constantly 
increased  and  elevated  to  keep  pace  with  the  growing- 
demand  that  women  shall  be  as  fullj'  educated  as 
men.  Even  Miss  Lyon,  in  those  early  da3'S,  looked 
forward  to  the  needs  of  the  future,  by  placing  in  her 
course  of  study,  Sullivan's  Political  Class-Book,  and 
Wayland's  Political  Economy.  The  four  years' 
course  is  solid  and  thorough,  while  the  optional 
course  in  French,  German,  and  Greek  is  admirable. 
Eventually,  when  our  preparatory  schools  are  higher, 
all  our  colleges  for  women  will  have  as  difficult 
entrance  examinations  as  Harvard  and  Yale. 

The  housework  at  Mount  Holyoke  Seminary  re- 
quires but  half  an  hour  each  day  for  each  of  the 
two  hundred  and  ninety-seven  pupils.  Much  time  is 
spent  wisely  in  the  gymnasium,  and  in  boating  on 
the  lake  near  by.  Habits  of  punctuality,  thorough- 
ness, and  order  are  the  outcome  of  life  in  this  insti- 
tution. An  endowment  of  twenty  thousand  dollars, 
called  "  the  Mary  Lyon  Fund,"  is  now  being  raised 
by  former  students  for  the  Chair  of  the  Principal. 
Schools  like  the  Lake  Erie  Seminary  at  Painesville, 
Ohio,  have  grown  out  of  the  school  at  South  Hadley. 
Truly,  Mary  Lyon  was  doing  a  great  work,  and  she 
could  not  come  down.  Between  such  a  life  and  the 
ordinary  social  round  there  can  be  no  comparison. 


140  MA  BY  LYON. 

The  English  iv}'  grows  thickly  over  Mis..  L3'0ii's 
grave,  covering  it  like  n  mantle,  and  sending  out  its 
wealth  of  green  leaves  in  the  spring.  So  each  year 
her  own  handiwork  flourishes,  sending  out  into  the 
world  its  strongest  forces,  the  verv  foundation  of 
the  highest  civilization, — educated  and  Christian 
wives  and  mothers. 


(From  the  •'Portrait  Gallery  of  Eminent  ]Men  and  Women.") 


HARRIET  G.  HOSMER.  141 


HARRIET   G.   HOSMER. 


>>»:c 


^ 


OME  years  ago,  in  an  art  store  in  Boston,  a 
kJ  crowd  of  persons  stood  gazing  intently  upon 
a  famous  piece  of  statuary.  The  red  curtains  were 
drawn  aside,  and  the  white  marble  seemed  almost  to 
speak.  A  group  of  girls  stood  together,  and  looked 
on  in  rapt  admiration.  One  of  them  said,  "  Just  to 
think  that  a  woman  did  it !  " 

"  It  makes  me  proud  and  glad,"  said  another. 
"Who  is  Harriet  Hosmer?"   said  a  third.      "I 
wish  I  knew  about  her." 

And  then  one  of  us,  who  had  stolen  all  the  hours 
she  could  get  from  school  life  to  read  art  books  from 
the  Hartford  Atheuiieum,  and  kept  crude  statues, 
made  by  herself  from  chalk  and  plaster,  secreted  in 
her  room,  told  all  she  had  read  about  the  brilliant 
author  of  "  Zenobia." 

The  statue  was  seven  feet  high,  queeuly  in  pose 
and  face,  yet  delicate  aud  beautiful,  with  the 
thoughts  which  genius  had  wrought  in  it.  The  left 
arm  supported  the  elegant  drapery,  while  the  right 
hung  listlessly  by  her  side,  both  wrists  chained  ;  the 
captive  of  the  Emperor  Aurelian.     Since  that  time, 


142  HARRIET  G.  HOSMER. 

I  have  looked  upon  other  masterpieces  in  all  the 
great  galleries  of  Europe,  but  perhaps  none  have 
ever  made  a  stronger  impression  upon  me  than 
"  Zenobia,"  in  those  early  years. 

And  who  was  the  artist  of  whom  we  girls  were  so 
proud?  Born  in  Watertown,  Mass.,  Oct.  9,  1830, 
Harriet  Hosmer  came  into  the  welcome  home  of  a 
leading  physician,  and  a  delicate  mother,  who  soon 
died  of  consumption.  Dr.  Hosmer  had  also  buried 
his  only  child  besides  Harriet,  with  the  same  dis- 
ease, and  he  determined  that  this  girl  should  live  in 
sunshine  and  air,  that  he  might  save  her  if  possible. 
He  used  to  say,  "  There  is  a  whole  life-time  for  the 
education  of  the  mind,  but  the  body  develops  in  a 
few  years  ;  and  during  that  time  nothing  should  be 
allowed  to  interfere  with  its  free  and  healthv  growth." 

As  soon  as  the  child  was  large  enough,  she  was 
given  a  pet  dog,  which  she  decked  with  ribbons  and 
bells.  Then,  as  the  Charles  River  flowed  past  their 
house,  a  boat  was  provided,  and  she  was  allowed  to 
row  at  will.  A  Venetian  gondola  was  also  built  for 
her,  with  silver  prow  and  A^elvet  cushions.  "Too 
much  spoiling  —  too  much  spoiling,"  said  some  of  the 
neighbors  ;  but  Dr.  Hosmer  knew  that  he  was  keeping 
his  little  daughter  on  the  earth  instead  of  heaven. 

A  gun  was  now  purchased,  and  the  girl  became 
an  admirable  marksman.  Her  room  was  a  perfect 
museum.  Here  were  birds,  bats,  beetles,  snakes, 
and  toads  ;  some  dissected,  some  preserved  in  spirits, 
and  others  stuffed,  all  gathered  and  prepared  by  her 


HARRIET  G.  HOSMER.  143 

own  hands.  Now  she  made  an  inkstand  from  the 
egg  of  a  sea-gull  and  the  body  of  a  kingfisher  ;  now 
she  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  tree  and  brought  down  a 
crow's  nest.  vShe  could  walk  miles  upon  miles  with 
no  fatigue.  She  grew  up  like  a  boy,  which  is  only 
another  way  of  saying  that  she  grew  up  healthy  and 
strong  physically.  Probably  polite  society  was 
shocked  at  Dr.  Hosmcr's  methods.  Would  that 
there  were  man}-  such  fathers  and  mothers,  that  we 
might  have  a  vigorous  race  of  women,  and  conse- 
quently, a  vigorous  race  of  men  ! 

When  Harriet  tired  of  books,  —  for  she  was  an 
eager  reader,  —  she  found  delight  in  a  clay-pit  in  the 
garden,  where  she  molded  horses  and  dogs  to  her 
heart's  content.  Unused  to  restraint,  she  did  not 
like  the  first  school  at  which  she  was  placed,  the 
principal,  the  brother-in-law  of  Nathaniel  Haw- 
thorne, writing  to  her  father  that  he  •'  could  do  noth- 
ing with  her." 

She  was  then  taken  to  Mrs.  Sedgwick,  who  kept  a 
famous  school  at  Lenox,  Berkshire  County.  She 
received  "  happy  Hatty,"  as  she  was  called,  with 
the  remark,  "  I  have  a  reputation  for  training  wild 
colts,  and  I  will  try  this  one."  And  the  wise  woman 
succeeded.  She  won  Harriet's  confidence,  not  by 
the  ten  thousand  times  repeated  "don't,"  which  so 
many  children  hear  in  home  and  school,  till  life 
seems  a  prison-pen.  She  let  her  run  wild,  guiding 
her  all  the  time  with  so  much  tact,  that  the  girl 
scarcelv  knew  she  was  oruided  at  all.     Blessed  tact  I 


144  HAEBIET  G.  HOSMEK. 

How  maii3'  tlioiisaiids  of  young  people  are  mined 
for  lack  of  it ! 

She  remained  here  three  years.  Mrs.  Sedgwick 
says,  '•  She  was  tlie  most  difficult  pupil  to  manage  I 
ever  had,  but  I  think  I  never  had  one  in  whom 
I  took  so  deep  an  interest,  and  whom  I  learned  to 
love  so  well."  About  this  time,  not  being  quite  as 
well  as  usual.  Dr.  Hosmer  engaged  a  physician  of 
large  practice  to  visit  his  daughter.  The  busy  man 
could  not  be  regular,  which  sadly  interfered  with 
Harriet's  boating  and  driving.  Complaining  one 
day  that  it  spoiled  her  pleasure,  he  said,  "  If  I  am 
alive,  I  will  be  here,"  naming  the  day  and  hour. 

"  Then  if  you  are  not  here,  I  am  to  conclude  that 
you  are  dead,"  was  the  reply. 

As  he  did  not  come,  Harriet  drove  to  the  news- 
paper offices  in  Boston  that  afternoon,  and  the  next 
morning    the    community    was    startled    to   read  of 

Dr. 's  sudden  death.    Friends  hastened  to  the 

house,  and  messages  of  condolence  came  pouring  in. 
It  is  probable  that  he  was  more  punctual  after  this. 

On  Harriet's  return  from  Lenox,  she  began  to 
take  lessons  in  drawing,  modeling,  and  anatomical 
studies,  in  Boston,  frequent!}'  walking  from  home 
and  back,  a  distance  of  fourteen  miles.  Feeling  the 
need  of  a  thorough  course  in  anatom}',  she  applied 
to  the  Boston  Medical  School  for  admittance,  and 
was  refused  because  of  her  sex.  The  Medical 
College  of  St.  Louis  proved  itself  broader,  glad  to 
encourao;e  talent  wherever  found,  and  received  her. 


HARRIET  G.   IIOSMER.  145 

Professor  McDowell,  uuder  whom  the  artists 
Powers  and  Cleveiiger  studied  anatomy,  spared  no 
pains  to  give  her  every  advantage,  while  the  stu- 
dents were  uniformly  courteous.  "  I  remember 
him,"  says  Miss  Hosmer,  ••  with  great  affection  and 
gratitude  as  being  a  most  thorough  and  patient 
teacher,  as  well  as  at  all  times  a  good,  kind  friend." 
In  testimony  of  her  appreciation,  she  cut,  from  a 
bust  of  Professor  McDowell  by  Clevenger,  a  life-size 
medallion  in  marble,  now  treasured  in  the  college 
museum. 

AVhile  in  St.  Louis  she  made  her  home  with  the 
family  of  Wayman  Crow,  Esq.,  whose  daughter  had 
been  her  companion  at  Lenox.  This  gentleman 
proved  himself  a  constant  and  encouraging  friend, 
ordering  her  first  statue  from  Rome,  and  helping  in 
a  thousand  ways  a  girl  who  had  chosen  for  herself 
an  unusual  work  in  life. 

After  completing  her  studies  she  made  a  trip  to 
New  Orleans,  and  then  North  to  the  Falls  of  St. 
Anthony,  smoking  the  pipe  of  peace  with  the  chief 
of  the  Dakota  Indians,  exploring  lead  mines  in 
Dubuque,  and  scaling  a  high  mountain  that  was 
soon  after  named  for  her.  Did  the  wealthy  girl  go 
alone  on  these  journeys?  Yes.  As  a  rule,  no  harm 
comes  to  a  young  woman  who  conducts  herself  with 
becoming  reserve  with  men.  Flirts  usually  are  paid 
in  their  own  coin. 

On  her  return  home.  Dr.  Hosmer  fitted  up  a 
studio  for  his  dauijhter,  and  her  first  work  was  to 


146  HARRIET  G.   HOSMER. 

copy  from  the  antique.  Then  she  cut  Canova's 
"Napoleon"  in  marble  for  her  father,  doing  all  the 
work,  that  he  might  especiall}'  value  the  gift.  Her 
next  statue  was  an  ideal  bust  of  Hesper,  "with," 
said  Lydia  Maria  Child,  "  the  face  of  a  lovely 
maiden  gently  falling  asleep  with  the  sound  of 
distant  music.  Her  hair  is  gracefully  arranged,  and 
intertwined  with  capsules  of  the  poppy.  A  star 
shines  on  her  forehead,  and  under  her  breast  lies 
the  crescent  moon.  The  swell  of  the  cheeks  and  the 
bust  is  like  pure,  3^ouug,  health}'  flesh,  and  the 
muscles  of  the  beautiful  mouth  so  delicately  cut,  it 
seems  like  a  thing  that  breathes.  She  did  every 
stroke  of  the  work  with  her  own  small  hands,  except 
knocking  off  the  corners  of  the  block  of  marble. 
She  employed  a  man  to  do  that ;  but  as  he  was 
nnused  to  work  for  sculptors,  she  did  not  venture  to 
have  him  approach  within  several  inches  of  the 
surface  she  intended  to  cut.  Slight  girl  as  she  was, 
she  wielded  for  eight  or  ten  hours  a  day  a  leaden 
mallet  weighing  four  pounds  and  a  half.  Had  it 
not  been  for  the  strength  and  flexibility  of  muscle 
acquired  by  rowing  and  other  athletic  exercises, 
such  arduous  labor  would  have  been  impossible." 

After  "Hesper"  was  completed,  she  said  to  her 
father,  "  I  am  ready  to  go  to  Rome." 

"  You  shall  go,  my  child,  this  very  autumn,"  was 
the  response. 

He  would,  of  course,  miss  the  genial  companion- 
ship of  his  only  child,  but  her  welfare  was  to  be 


HARRIET  G.  IIOSMER.  147 

consulted  rather  tlmn  his  own.  AVhcii  autumn  came, 
she  rode  on  horseback  to  AVayland  to  say  good-bye 
to  Mrs.  Child.  "  Shall  you  never  be  homesick  for 
your  museum-parlor  in  Watertown?  Can  you  be 
contented  in  a  foreign  land?" 

"  I  can  be  happy  anywhere,"  said  Miss  Hosmer, 
"  with  good  health  and  a  bit  of  marble." 

Late  in  the  fall  Dr.  Hosmer  and  his  daughter 
started  for  Europe,  reaching  Rome  Nov.  12,  1852. 
She  had  greatly  desired  to  study  under  John  Gibson, 
the  leading  English  sculptor,  but  he  liad  taken  young 
women  into  his  studio  who  in  a  short  time  became 
discouraged  or  showed  themselves  afraid  of  hard 
work,  and  he  feared  Miss  Hosmer  might  be  of  the 
same  useless  type. 

When  the  photographs  of  ''  Hesper"  were  placed 
before  him  by  an  artist  friend  of  the  Hosmers,  he 
looked  at  them  carefully,  and  said,  "  Send  the  young 
ladj'  to  me,  and  wliatever  I  know,  and  can  teach  her, 
she  shall  learn."  He  gave  Miss  Hosmer  an  up- 
stairs room  in  his  studio,  and  here  for  seven  years 
she  worked  with  delisjlit,  honored  and  encourao;ed 
by  her  noble  teacher.  She  wrote  to  her  friends  : 
"  The  dearest  wish  of  my  heart  is  gratified  in  that  I 
am  acknowledged  by  Gibson  as  a  pupil.  He  has 
been  resident  in  Home  thirty-four  ^^ears,  and  leads 
the  van.  I  am  greatly  in  luck.  He  has  just  finished 
the  model  of  the  statue  of  the  queen  ;  and  as  his 
room  is  vacant,  he  permits  me  to  use  it,  and  I  am  now 
in  his  own  studio.     I  have  also  a  little  room  for  work 


148  IIAREIET  G.  IIOSMER. 

which  was  formerly  occupied  hy  Canova,  and  per- 
haps inspiration  maybe  drawn  from  the  walls." 

The  first  work  which  she  copied,  to  show  Gibson 
whether  she  had  correctness  of  eye  and  proper 
knowledge,  was  the  Venus  of  Milo.  When  nearly 
finished,  the  iron  which  supported  the  cla}^  snapped, 
and  the  figure  lay  spoiled  upon  the  floor.  She  did 
not  shrink  nor  cry,  but  immediately  went  to  work 
cheerfully  to  shape  it  over  again.  This  conduct  Mr. 
Gibson  greatly  admired,  and  made  up  his  mind  to 
assist  her  all  he  could. 

After  this  she  copied  the  "  Cupid"  of  Praxitiles  and 
Tasso  from  the  British  Museum.  Her  first  original 
work  was  Daphne,  the  beautiful  girl  whom  Apollo 
loved,  and  who,  rather  than  accept  his  addresses, 
was  changed  into  laurel  by  the  gods.  Apollo 
crowned  his  head  with  laui-el,  and  made  the  flower 
sacred  to  himself  forever. 

Next,  Miss  Hosmer  produced  "Medusa,"  famed  for 
her  beautiful  hair,  which  Minerva  turned  into  ser- 
pents because  Neptune  loved  her.  According  to 
Grecian  mytholog}',  Perseus  made  himself  immortal 
by  conquering  Medusa,  whose  head  he  cut  off,  and 
the  blood  dripping  from  it  filled  Africa  with  snakes. 
Miss  Hosmer  represents  the  beautiful  maiden,  when 
she  finds,  with  horror,  that  her  hair  is  turning  into 
serpents. 

Needing  a  real  snake  for  her  work,  Miss  Hosmer 
sent  a  man  into  the  suburbs  to  bring  her  one  alive. 
"When  it  was  obtained,  she  chloroformed  it  till  she 


HAHBIET  G.  HOSMER.  149 

had  made  a  cast,  keeping  it  in  plaster  for  three  hours 
and  a  half.  Then,  instead  of  killing  it,  like  a  true- 
hearted  woman,  as  she  is,  she  sent  it  back  into  the 
country,  glad  to  regain  its  liberty. 

"  Daphne  "  and  "Medusa  "  were  both  exhibited  in 
Boston  the  following  year,  1853,  and  were  much 
praised.  Mr.  Gibson  said  :  "  The  power  of  imitating 
the  roundness  and  softness  of  flesh,  he  had  never 
seen  surpassed."  Ranch,  the  great  Prussian,  whose 
mausoleum  at  Charlottenburg  of  the  beautiful  queen 
Louise  can  never  be  forgotten,  gave  Miss  Hosmer 
high  praise. 

Two  years  later  she  completed  •'  CEnone,"  made  for 
Mr.  Crow  of  St.  Louis.  It  is  the  full-length  figure 
of  the  beautiful  nymph  of  Mount  Ida.  The  story 
is  a  familiar  one.  Before  the  birth  of  Paris,  the  son 
of  Priam,  it  was  foretold  that  he  b}'  his  impru- 
dence should  cause  the  destruction  of  Troy.  His 
father  gave  orders  for  him  to  be  put  to  death,  but 
possibly  through  the  fondness  of  his  mother,  he  was 
spared,  and  carried  to  Mount  Ida,  where  he  was 
brought  up  by  the  shepherds,  and  finally  married 
CEnone.  In  time  he  became  known  to  his  family, 
who  forgot  the  prophecy  and  cordially  received  him. 
For  a  decision  in  favor  of  Venus  he  was  promised 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world  for  his  wife. 
Forgetting  CEnone,  he  fell  in  love  with  the  beauti- 
ful Helen,  already  the  wife  of  Menelaus,  and  per- 
suaded her  to  fly  with  him  to  Troy,  to  his  Other's 
court.     War  resulted.     When  he  found  himself  dv- 


150  HARRIET  G.  HOSMER. 

ing  of  his  wounds,  he  fled  to  CEnone  for  help,  but 
died  just  as  he  came  into  her  presence.  She  bathed 
the  body  with  her  tears,  and  stabbed  herself  to  the 
heart,  a  very  foolish  act  for  so  faithless  a  man. 
Miss  Hosmer  represents  her  as  a  beautiful  shep- 
herdess, bowed  with  grief  from  her  desertion. 

This  work  was  so  much  liked  in  America,  that  the 
St.  Louis  Mercantile  Library  made  a  liberal  offer 
for  some  other  statue.  Accordingly,  two  years 
after,  ' '  Beatrice  Cenci "  was  sent.  The  noble  girl  lies 
asleep,  the  night  before  her  execution,  after  the  ter- 
rible torture.  "It  was,"  says  Mrs.  Child,  "the 
sleep  of  a  bod}'  worn  out  with  the  wretchedness  of 
the  soul.  On  that  innocent  face  suffering  had  left 
its  traces.  The  arm  that  had  been  tossing  in  the 
grief  tempest,  had  fallen  heavily,  too  weary  to 
change  itself  into  a  more  easy  position.  Those 
large  eyes,  now  so  closely  veiled  by  their  swollen 
lids,  had  evidently  wept  till  the  fountain  of  tears 
was  dry.  That  lovelv  mouth  was  still  the  open 
portal  of  a  sigh,  which  the  mastery  of  sleep  had  left 
no  time  to  close." 

To  make  this  natural,  the  sculptor  caused  several 
models  to  go  to  sleep  in  her  studio,  that  she  might 
study  them.  Gibson  is  said  to  have  remarked  upon 
seeing  this,  "I  can  teach  her  nothing."  This  was 
also  exhibited  in  Loudon  and  in  several  American 
cities. 

For  three  years  she  had  worked  continuously,  not 
leaving  Rome  even  in  the  hot,  unhealthv  summers. 


HARRIET  G.  IIOSMER.  151 

She  had  said,  '•  I  will  not  be  an  araatenr  ;  I  will 
work  as  if  I  had  to  earn  my  daily  bread."  How- 
ever, as  her  health  seemed  somewhat  impaired,  at 
her  father's  earnest  wish,  she  had  decided  to  go  to 
England  for  the  season.  Her  trnnks  were  packed, 
and  she  was  ready  to  start,  when  lo !  a  message 
came  that  Dr.  Hosmer  had  lost  his  property,  that  he 
could  send  her  no  more  money,  and  suggested  that 
she  return  home  at  once. 

At  first  she  seemed  overwhelmed ;  then  she  said 
firmly,  "I  cannot  go  back,  and  give  up  my  art." 
Her  trunks  were  at  once  unpacked  and  a  cheap 
room  rented.  Her  handsome  horse  and  saddle  were 
sold,  and  she  was  now  to  work  indeed  "  as  if  she 
earned  her  daily  bread." 

B3'  a  strange  freak  of  human  nature,  by  which  we 
sometimes  do  our  most  humorous  work  when  we  are 
saddest,  ^liss  Hosmer  produced  now  in  her  sorrow 
her  fun-loving  "Puck."  It  represents  a  child  about 
four  years  old  seated  on  a  toadstool  which  breaks 
beneath  him.  The  left  hand  confines  a  lizard,  while 
the  right  holds  a  beetle.  The  legs  are  crossed,  and 
the  great  toe  of  the  right  foot  turns  up.  The  whole 
is  full  of  merriment.  The  Crown  Princess  of  Ger- 
many, on  seeing  it,  exclaimed,  "Oh,  Miss  Hosmer, 
you  have  such  a  talent  for  toes  !  "  Very  true,  for 
this  statue,  with  the  several  copies  made  from  it, 
brought  her  thirt}'  thousand  dollars  !  The  Prince  of 
"Wales  has  a  copy,  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  also,  and 
it  has  gone  even  to  Australia  nnd  the  West  Indies. 
A  companion  piece  is  the  "Will-o'-the-wisp." 


152  HARRIET  G.  HOSMER. 

About  this  time  the  lovely  sixteen-3'ear-old  daugh- 
ter of  Madam  Falcouuet  died  at  Rome,  aud  for  her 
monumeut  in  the  Catholic  church  of  San  Andrea  del 
Fratte,  Miss  Hosmer  produced  au  exquisite  figure 
i-esting  upon  a  sarcophagus.  Layard,  the  explorer 
of  Babylon  and  Nineveh,  wrote  to  Madam  Falconnet : 
••  I  scarcely  remember  to  have  seen  a  monument 
which  more  completely  commanded  my  sympathy  and 
more  deeply  interested  me.  I  reallv  know  of  none, 
of  modern  days,  which  I  would  rather  have  placed 
over  the  remains  of  one  who  had  been  dear  to  me." 

]Miss  Ilosmer  also  modeled  a  fountain  from  the 
story  of  Hylas.  The  lower  basin  contains  dolphins 
spouting  jets,  while  in  the  upper  basin,  supported 
l)y  swans,  the  youth  Hylas  stands,  surrounded  by 
the  nymphs  who  admire  his  beauty,  and  who  event- 
ualh'  draw  him  into  the  water,  where  he  is 
drowned. 

Miss  Hosmer  returned  to  America  in  1857,  five 
years  after  her  departure.  She  was  still  young, 
twent3'-seven,  vivacious,  hopeful,  not  wearied  from 
her  hard  work,  and  famous.  While  here  she  deter- 
mined upon  a  statue  of  Zenobia,  Queen  of  Palmyra, 
and  read  much  concerning  her  and  her  times.  She 
had  touched  fiction  and  poetiy ;  now  she  would 
attempt  history.  She  could  scarcely  have  chosen  a 
more  heroic  or  pathetic  subject.  The  brave  leader 
of  a  brave  people,  a  skilful  warrior,  marching  at 
the  head  of  her  troops,  now  on  foot,  and  now  on 
horseback,  beautiful  in  face,  and  cultured  in  mind, 


HARRIET  G.  IIOSMER.  153 

acquainted  with  Latin,  Greek,  Syriac,  and  Egyp- 
tian, finally  captured  by  Aurelian,  and  borne  through 
the  streets  of  Rome,  adorning  his  triumphal  pro- 
cession. 

After  Miss  Hosmer's  return  to  Rome,  she  worked 
on  "Zenobia"  with  energy  and  enthusiasm,  as  she 
molded  the  chiy,  and  then  the  plaster.  AVhen 
brought  to  this  country,  it  awakened  the  greatest 
interest ;  crowds  gathered  to  see  it.  In  Chicago  it 
was  exhibited  at  the  Sanitary  Fair  in  behalf  of  the 
soldiers.  Whittier  said:  "It  very  fully  expresses 
my  conception  of  what  historical  sculpture  should  be. 
It  tells  its  whole  proud  and  melancholy  story.  In 
looking  at  it,  I  felt  that  the  artist  had  been  as  truly 
serving  her  country  while  working  out  her  magnifi- 
cent design  abroad,  as  our  soldiers  in  the  field,  and 
our  public  officers  in  their  departments."  From  its 
exhibition  Miss  Hosmer  received  five  thousand  dol- 
lars. It  was  purchased  by  Mr.  A.  W.  Griswold,  of 
New  York.  So  great  a  work  was  the  statue  con- 
sidered in  London,  that  some  of  the  papers  declared 
Gibson  to  be  its  author.  Miss  Hosmer  at  once  be- 
gan suits  for  libel,  and  retractions  were  speedily 
made. 

In  1860  Miss  Hosmer  again  visited  America,  to 
see  her  father,  who  was  seriously  ill.  How  proud 
Dr.  Hosmer  must  have  been  of  his  gifted  daughter, 
now  that  her  fame  was  in  two  hemispheres  !  Surely 
he  had  not  "spoiled"  her.  She  could  now  spend 
for  him  as  he  had  spent  for  her  in  her  childhood. 


154  HARRIET  G.   IIOSMER. 

While  here,  she  received  a  commission  from  St. 
Louis  for  a  bronze  portrait-statue  of  Missouri's 
famous  statesman,  Thomas  Hart  Benton.  The 
world  wondered  if  she  could  bring  out  of  the  marble 
a  man  with  all  his  strength  and  dignity,  as  she  had 
a  woman  with  all  her  grace  and  nobility. 

She  visited  St.  Louis,  to  examine  portraits  and 
mementos  of  Colonel  Benton,  and  then  hastened 
across  the  ocean  to  her  work.  The  next  year  a 
photograph  of  the  model  was  sent  to  the  friends, 
and  the  likeness  pronounced  good.  The  statue  was 
cast  at  the  great  royal  foundry  at  Munich,  and  in 
due  time  shipped  to  this  country.  May  27,  1868, 
it  was  unveiled  in  Lafayette  Park,  in  the  presence 
of  an  immense  concourse  of  people,  the  daughter, 
Mrs.  John  C.  Fremont,  removing  the  covering. 
The  statue  is  ten  feet  high,  and  weighs  three  and 
one-half  tons.  It  rests  on  a  granite  pedestal,  ten 
feet  square,  the  whole  being  twenty -two  feet  square. 
On  the  west  side  of  the  pedestal  are  the  words  from 
Colonel  Benton's  famous  speech  on  the  Pacific  Rail- 
road, "There  is  the  East  —  there  is  India."  Both 
press  and  people  were  heartih'  pleased  with  this 
statue,  for  which  Miss  Hosmer  received  ten  thousand 
dollars,  the  whole  costing  thirty  thousand. 

She  was  now  in  the  midst  of  busy  and  successful 
work.  Orders  crowded  upon  her.  Her  "  Sleeping 
Faun/'  which  was  exhibited  at  the  Dublin  Exhibi- 
tion in  1865,  was  sold  on  the  day  of  opening  for 
five    thousand   dollars,   to   Sir  Benjamin   Guinness. 


HARRIET  G.   HOSMER.  155 

Some  discussion  having  arisen  about  the  sale,  he 
offered  ten  thousand,  saying,  that  if  money  could 
buy  it,  he  would  possess  it.  Miss  Hosmer,  how- 
ever, would  receive  onl}-  the  five  thousand.  The 
faun  is  represented  reclining  against  the  trunk  of  a 
tree,  partly  draped  in  the  spoils  of  a  tiger.  A  little 
faun,  with  mischievous  look,  is  binding  the  faun  to 
the  tree  with  the  tiger-skin.  The  newspapers  were 
enthusiastic  about  the  work. 

The  London  Times  said:  "In  the  groups  of 
statues  are  many  works  of  exquisite  beauty,  but 
there  is  one  which  at  once  arrests  attention  and 
extorts  admiration.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  amid 
all  the  statues  in  this  court,  contributed  by  the 
natives  of  lands  in  which  the  fine  arts  were  natural- 
ized thousands  of  years  ago,  one  of  the  finest  should 
be  the  production  of  an  American  artist."  The 
French  Galignani  said,  "The  gem  of  tlie  classical 
school,  in  its  nobler  style  of  composition,  is  due  to 
an  American  lady,  Miss  ITosmer."  The  London  Art 
Journal  said,  "The  works  of  Miss  Hosmer,  Hiram 
Powers,  and  others  we  might  name,  have  placed 
American  on  a  level  witli  the  best  modern  sculptors 
of  Europe."  This  work  was  repeated  for  the  Prince 
of  Wales  and  for  Lady  Ashburton,  of  England. 

Not  long  ago  I  visited  the  studio  of  Miss  Hosmer 
in  the  Via  Margutta,  at  Rome,  and  saw  her  numer- 
ous works,  many  of  them  still  unfinished.  Here  an 
arm  seemed  just  reaching  out  from  the  rough  block 
of  marble  ;  here  a  sweet  face  seemed  like  Pygma- 


156  HARRIET  G.   HOSMER. 

lion's  statue,  coming  into  life.  In  the  centre  of  the 
studio  was  the  "Siren  Fountain,"  executed  for  Lady 
Marion  Alford.  A  siren  sits  in  the  upper  basin  and 
sings  to  the  music  of  her  lute.  Three  little  cupids 
sit  on  dolphins,  and  listen  to  her  music. 

For  some  j^ears  Miss  Hosmer  has  been  preparing 
a  golden  gateway  for  an  art  gallery  at  Ashridge 
Hall,  England,  ordered  by  Earl  Brownlow.  These 
gates,  seventeen  feet  high,  are  covered  with  bas- 
reliefs  representing  the  Air,  Earth,  and  Sea.  The 
twelve  hours  of  the  night  show  "  ^olus  subduing 
the  Winds,"  the  "Descent  of  the  Zephyrs,"  "Iris 
descending  with  the  Dew,"  "  Night  rising  with  the 
Stars,"  "The  Rising  Moon,"  "The  Hour's  Sleep," 
"Tlie  Dreams  Descend,"  "The  Falling  Star," 
"  Phosphor  and  Hesper,"  "  The  Hours  Wake," 
"  Aurora  Veils  the  Stars,"  and  "Morning."  More 
than  eiohtv  fiojures  are  in  the  nineteen  bas-reliefs. 
Miss  Hosmer  has  done  other  important  works, 
among  them  a  statue  of  the  beautiful  Queen  of 
Naples,  who  was  a  frequent  visitor  to  the  artist's 
studio,  and  several  well-known  monuments.  With 
her  girlish  fondness  for  machinery,  she  has  given 
much  thought  to  mechanics  in  these  later  years, 
striving  to  find,  like  many  another,  the  secret  of 
producing  perpetual  motion.  She  spends  much  of 
her  time  now  in  England.  She  is  still  passionately 
fond  of  riding,  the  Empress  of  Austria,  who  owns 
more  horses  than  any  woman  in  the  world,  declar- 
ino;  ' '  that  there  was  nothino;  she  looked  forward  to 


HARRIET  G.  HOSMER.  157 

with    more    interest    in    Rome,    than    to   see   Miss 
Hosmer  ride." 

Miss  Hosmer  writes  prose  and  poetry,  and  would 
have  been  successful  as  an  author,  if  she  had  not 
given  her  time  to  sculpture.  She  has  allowed  noth- 
ing to  distract  her  from  her  one  purpose  in  life. 
She  has  her  days  for  visitors,  but  her  hours  of  study 
are  sacred.  It  has  been  continuous,  earnest  work, 
and  it  has  naturally  brought  her  wealth  and  fame. 
Happy,  witty,  self-dependent,  never  succumbing  to 
disappointments  or  difficulties,  she  has  made  for 
herself  an  abiding  place  in  history. 


158  MADAME  DE  STAEL. 


MADAME   DE   STAEL. 


IT  was  the  twentieth  of  September,  1881.  The 
sun  shone  out  mild  and  beautiful  upon  Lake 
Geneva,  as  we  sailed  up  to  Coppet.  The  banks 
were  dotted  with  lovely  homes,  half  hidden  b}"  the 
foliage,  while  brilliant  flower-beds  came  close  to  the 
water's  edge.  Snow-covered  Mont  Blanc  looked 
down  upon  the  restful  scene,  which  seemed  as 
charming  as  anything  in  Europe. 

We  alighted  from  the  boat,  and  walked  up  from 
the  landing,  between  great  rows  of  oaks,  horse- 
chestnuts,  and  sycamores,  to  the  famous  home  we 
had  come  to  look  upon,  —  that  of  Madame  de  Stael. 
It  is  a  French  chateau,  two  stories  high,  drab,  with 
green  blinds,  surrounding  an  open  square ;  vines 
clamber  over  the  gate  and  the  high  walls,  and  lovely 
flowers  blossom  everywhere.  As  you  enter,  you  stand 
in  a  long  hall,  with  green  curtains,  with  many  busts, 
the  finest  of  which  is  that  of  Monsieur  Necker. 
The  next  room  is  the  large  library,  with  furniture  of 
blue  and  white  ;  and  the  next,  hung  with  old  Gobelin 
tapestry,  is  the  room  where  Madame  Recamier  used 
to  sit  with  Madame  de  Stael,  and  look  out  upon  the 


MADAME   DK    STAEL. 


AfADAME  DE  STAEL.  .     159 

exquisite  scenery,  restful  eveu  in  their  troubled 
lives.  Here  is  the  work-table  of  her  whom  Macaulay 
called  "  the  greatest  woman  of  her  times,"  and  of 
whom  Byron  said,  "  She  is  a  woman  by  herself,  and 
has  done  more  than  all  the  rest  of  them  together, 
intellectually  ;  she  ought  to  have  been  a  man." 

Next  we  enter  the  drawing-room,  with  carpet 
woven  in  a  single  piece ;  the  furniture  red  and 
white.  We  stop  to  look  upon  the  picture  of 
Monsieur  Necker,  the  father,  a  strong,  noble-look- 
ing man  ;  of  the  mother,  in  white  silk  dress,  with 
powdered  hair,  and  very  beautiful ;  and  De  Stael 
herself,  in  a  brownish  yellow  dress,  with  low  neck 
and  short  sleeves,  holding  in  her  hand  the  branch  of 
flowers,  which  she  always  carried,  or  a  leaf,  that 
thus  her  hands  might  be  employed  while  she  engaged 
in  the  conversation  that  astonished  Europe.  Here 
also  are  the  pictures  of  the  Baron,  her  husband,  in 
white  wig  and  military  dress  ;  here  her  idolized  son 
and  daughter,  the  latter  beautiful,  with  mild,  sad 
face,  and  dark  hair  and  eyes. 

What  brings  thousands  to  this  quiet  retreat  every 
year?  Because  here  lived  and  wrote  and  suffered 
the  only  person  whom  the  great  Napoleon  feared, 
whom  Galiffe,  of  Geneva,  declared  "  the  most 
remarkable  woman  that  Europe  has  produced " ; 
learned,  rich,  the  author  of  Coriime  and  Allemagne^ 
whose  "  talents  in  conversation,"  says  George 
Ticknor,  "  were  perhaps  the  most  remarkable  of  any 
person  that  ever  lived." 


160  MADAME  BE  STAEL. 

Annie  Louise  Germaine  Necker,  born  in  Paris, 
April  27,  1766,  was  the  daughter  of  James  Necker, 
Minister  of  Finance  under  Louis  XVI.,  a  man  of 
fine  intellect,  the  author  of  fifteen  volumes ;  and 
Susanna,  daughter  of  a  Swiss  pastor,  beautiful, 
educated,  and  devotedly  Christian.  Necker  had 
become  rich  in  early  life  through  banking,  and  had 
been  made,  by  the  republic  of  Geneva,  her  resident 
minister  at  the  Court  of  Versailles. 

When  the  throne  of  Louis  seemed  crumbling, 
because  the  people  were  tired  of  extravagance  and 
heavy  taxation,  Necker  was  called  to  his  aid,  with 
the  hope  that  economy  and  retrenchment  would  save 
the  nation.  He  also  loaned  the  government  two 
million  dollars.  The  home  of  the  Neckers,  in  Paris, 
naturally  became  a  social  centre,  which  the  mother 
of  the  family  was  well  fitted  to  grace.  Gibbon  had 
been  deeply  in  love  with  her. 

He  says  :  "  I  found  her  learned  without  pedantr}', 
liveh'  in  conversation,  pure  in  sentiment,  and  elegant 
in  manners  ;  and  the  first  sudden  emotion  was  forti- 
fied b}^  the  habits  and  knowledge  of  a  more  familiar 
acquaintance.  ...  At  Grassier  and  Lausanne  I 
indulged  my  dream  of  felicity ;  but  on  my  return 
to  England  I  soon  discovered  that  my  father  would 
not  hear  of  this  strange  alliance,  and  that,  without 
his  consent,  I  was  myself  destitute  and  helpless. 
After  a  painful  struggle,  I  yielded  to  my  fate  ;  I 
sighed  as  a  lover;  I  obeyed  as  a  son."  Gibbon 
never  married,  but  retained  his  life-long  friendship 
and  admiration  for  Madame  Necker. 


MADAME  DE  STAEL.  161 

It  was  not  strange,  therefore,  that  Gibbon  liked 
to  be  present  in  her  salon,  where  Buffon,  Hume, 
Diderot,  and  D'Alembert  were  wont  to  gather.  The 
child  of  such  parents  could  scarcely  be  other  than 
intellectual,  surrounded  by  such  gifted  minds.  Her 
mother,  too,  was  a  most  sj^stematic  teacher,  and 
each  day  the  girl  was  obliged  to  sit  by  her  side, 
erect,  on  a  wooden  stool,  and  learn  difficult  lessons. 

"She  stood  in  great  awe  of  her  mother,"  wrote 
Simond,  the  traveller,  "but  was  exceedingly  familial' 
with  and  extravagantly  fond  of  her  fatlier.  Madame 
Necker  had  no  sooner  left  the  room  one  day,  after 
dinner,  than  the  young  girl,  till  then  timidh' 
decorous,  suddenly  seized  her  napkin,  and  threw  it 
across  the  table  at  the  head  of  her  father,  and  then 
flying  round  to  him,  hung  upon  his  neck,  suffocating 
all  his  reproofs  b}^  her  kisses."  Whenever  her 
mother  returned  to  the  room,  she  at  once  became 
silent  and  restrained. 

The  child  early  began  to  show  literary  talent, 
writing  dramas,  and  making  paper  kings  and  queens 
to  act  her  tragedies.  This  the  mother  thought  to  be 
wrong,  and  it  was  discontinued.  But  when  she  was 
twelve,  the  mother  having  somewhat  relented,  she 
wrote  a  play,  which  she  and  her  companions  acted  in 
the  drawing-room.  Grimm  was  so  pleased  with  her 
attempts,  that  he  sent  extracts  to  his  correspondents 
throughout  Europe.  At  fifteen  she  wrote  an  essay 
on  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes^  and 
another  upon  Montesquieu's  Spirit  of  Lav: s. 

Overtaxing  the  brain  with  her  continuous  study. 


162  MADAME  DE  STAEL. 

she  became  ill,  and  the  physician,  greatly  to  her 
delight,  prescribed  fresh  air  and  sunshine.  Here 
often  she  roamed  from  morning  till  night  on  their 
estate  at  St.  Ouen.  Madame  Necker  felt  deeply  the 
thwarting  of  her  educational  plans,  and  years  after, 
when  her  daughter  had  acquired  distinction,  said, 
"  It  is  absolutely  nothing  compared  to  what  I  would 
have  made  it." 

Monsieur  Necker's  restriction  of  pensions  and 
taxing  of  luxuries  soon  aroused  the  opposition  of 
the  aristocracy,  and  the  weak  but  good-hearted  King- 
asked  his  minister  to  resign.  Both  wife  and 
daughter  felt  the  blow  keenly,  for  both  idolized  him, 
so  much  so  that  the  mother  feared  lest  she  be 
supplanted  b}^  her  daughter.  Madame  de  Stael  says 
of  her  father,  "  From  the  moment  of  their  marriage 
to  her  death,  the  thonght  of  ni}*  mother  dominated 
his  life.  He  was  not  like  other  men  in  power, 
attentive  to  her  by  occasional  tokens  of  regard,  but 
by  continual  expressions  of  most  tender  and  most 
delicate  sentiment."  Of  herself  she  wrote,  "  Our 
destinies  would  have  united  us  forever,  if  fate  had 
only  made  us  contemporaries."  At  his  death  she 
said,  "  If  he  could  be  restored  to  me,  I  would  give 
all  m}^  remaining  years  for  six  months."  To  the  last 
he  was  her  idol. 

For  the  next  few  years  the  family  travelled  most 
of  the  time,  Necker  bringing  out  a  book  on  the 
Finances,  which  had  a  sale  at  once  of  a  hundred 
thousand    copies.      A    previous   book,  the    Comjjte 


MADAME  DE  STAEL.  163 

Eejida  ait  Roi,  showing  how  for  years  the  mcueys  of 
France  had  been  wasted,  had  also  a  large  sale.  For 
these  books,  and  especially  for  other  correspon- 
dence, he  was  banished  forty  leagues  from  Paris. 
The  daughter's  heart  seemed  well-nigh  broken  at 
this  intelligence.  Loving  Paris,  saying  she  would 
rather  live  there  on  "one  hundred  francs  a  year, 
and  lodge  in  the  fourth  story,"  than  anywhere  else 
in  the  world,  how  could  she  bear  for  years  the 
isolation  of  the  country?  Joseph  II.,  King  of 
Poland,  and  the  King  of  Naples,  offered  Necker  fine 
positions,  but  he  declined. 

Mademoiselle  Necker  had  come  to  womanhood, 
not  beautiful,  but  with  wonderful  fascination  and 
tact.  She  could  compliment  persons  without 
flattery,  was  cordial  and  generous,  and  while  the 
most  brilliant  talker,  could  draw  to  herself  the 
thoughts  and  confidences  of  others.  She  had  also 
written  a  book  on  Boiisseau .,  which  w^as  much 
talked  about.  Pitt,  of  England,  Count  Fersen,  of 
Sweden,  and  others,  sought  her  in  marriage,  but  she 
loved  no  person  as  well  as  her  father.  Her  consent 
to  marriage  could  be  obtained  only  by  the  promise 
that  she  should  never  be  obliged  to  leave  him. 

Baron  de  Stael,  a  man  of  learning  and  fine  social 
position,  ambassador  from  Sweden,  and  the  warm 
friend  of  Gustavus,  was  ready  to  make  any  promises 
for  the  rich  daughter  of  the  Minister  Necker.  He 
was  thirty-seven,  she  only  a  little  more  than  half  his 
age,    twenty,    but   she   accepted   him    because   her 


164  IIABAME  DE  STAEL. 

parents  were  pleased.  Going  to  Paris,  she  was,  of 
course,  received  at  Court,  Marie  Antoinette  paying 
her  much  attention.  Necker  was  soon  recalled  from 
exile  to  his  old  position. 

The  funds  rose  thirt}^  per  cent,  and  he  became 
the  idol  of  the  people.  Soon  representative  govern- 
ment was  demanded,  and  then,  though  the  King 
granted  it,  the  breach  was  widened.  Necker,  un- 
popular with  the  bad  advisers  of  the  King,  was 
again  asked  to  leave  Paris,  and  make  no  noise  about 
it ;  but  the  people,  hearing  of  it,  soon  demanded  his 
recall,  and  he  was  hastih'  brought  back  from 
Brussels,  riding  through  the  streets  like  "the  sove- 
reign of  a  nation,"  said  his  daughter.  The  people 
were  wild  with  delight. 

But  matters  had  gone  too  far  to  prevent  a  bloody 
Revolution.  Soon  a  mob  was  marching  toward 
Versailles;  thousands  of  men,  women,  and  even 
children  armed  with  pikes.  Tliey  reached  the  pal- 
ace, killed  the  guards,  and  penetrated  to  the  queen's 
apartments,  while  some  filled  the  court-j^ard  and 
demanded  bread.  The  brave  Marie  Antoinette  ap- 
peared on  the  balcony  leading  her  two  children, 
while  Lafayette  knelt  by  her  side  and  kissed  her 
hand.     But  the  people  could  not  be  appeased. 

Necker  finding  himself  unable  to  serve  his  king 
longer,  fled  to  his  Swiss  retreat  at  Coppet,  and  there 
remained  till  his  death.  Madame  de  Stael,  as  the 
wife  of  the  Swedish  ambassador,  continued  in  the 
turmoil,   writing   her    father  dailv,   and  taking    an 


MADAME  DE  STAEL.  165 

active  interest  in  politics.  "  In  England/'  she  said, 
' '  women  are  accustomed  to  be  silent  before  men 
when  political  questions  are  discussed.  In  France, 
they  direct  all  conversation,  and  their  minds  readil}' 
acquire  the  facility  and  talent  which  this  privilege 
requires."  Lafayette,  Narbonne,  and  Talleyrand  con- 
sulted with  her.  She  wrote  the  principal  part  of 
Talleyrand's  report  on  Public  Instruction  in  1790. 
She  procured  the  appointment  of  Xarbonne  to  the 
ministr}^ ;  and  later,  when  Tallevrand  was  in  exile, 
obtained  his  appointment  to  the  Department  of  For- 
eign Affairs. 

Matters  had  gone  from  bad  to  worse.  In  1792 
the  Swedish  government  suspended  its  embassy,  and 
Madame  de  Stael  prepared  to  fly,  but  stayed  for  a 
time  to  save  her  friends.  The  seven  prisons  of 
Paris  were  all  crowded  under  the  fearful  reign  of 
Danton  and  Marat.  Great  heaps  of  dead  lay  be- 
fore every  prison  door.  During  that  Reign  of  Ter- 
ror it  is  estimated  that  eighteen  thousand  six  hun- 
dred persons  perished  b}'  the  guillotine.  Whole 
squares  were  shot  down.  When  the  police  visited 
her  house,  where  some  of  the  ministers  were  hidden, 
she  met  them  graciously,  urging  that  they  must  not 
violate  the  privacy  of  an  ambassador's  house. 
When  her  friends  were  arrested,  she  went  to  the 
barbarous  leaders,  and  with  her  eloquence  begged 
for  their  safet}',  and  thus  saved  the  lives  of  many. 

At  last  she  must  leave  the  terror-stricken  city. 
Supposing  that  her  rank  as  the  wife  of  a  foreign 


166  MADAME  DE  STAEL. 

ambassador  would  protect  her,  she  started  with  a 
carriage  and  six  horses,  her  servants  in  livery.  At 
once  a  crowd  of  half -famished  and  haggard  women 
crowded  around,  and  threw  themselves  against  the 
horses.  The  carriage  was  stopped,  and  the  occu- 
pants were  taken  to  the  Assembly.  She  plead  her 
case  before  the  noted  Robespierre,  and  then  waited 
for  six  hours  for  the  decision  of  the  Commune. 
Meantime  she  saw  the  hired  assassins  pass  beneath 
the  windows,  their  bare  arms  covered  with  the 
blood  of  the  slain.  The  mob  attempted  to  pillage 
her  carriage,  but  a  strong  man  mounted  the  box  and 
defended  it.  She  learned  afterward  that  it  was  the 
notorious  Santerre,  the  person  who  later  superintend- 
ed the  execution  of  Louis  XVI.,  ordering  his  drum- 
mers to  drown  the  last  words  of  the  dying  King. 
Santerre  had  seen  Necker  distribute  corn  to  the  poor 
of  Paris  in  a  time  of  famine,  and  now  he  was  be- 
friending the  daughter  for  this  noble  act.  Finally 
she  was  allowed  to  continue  her  journe}^,  and 
reached  Coppet  with  her  baby,  Auguste,  well-nigh 
exhausted  after  this  terrible  ordeal. 

The  Swiss  home  soon  became  a  place  of  refuge 
for  those  who  were  flying  from  the  horrors  of  the 
Commune.  She  kept  a  faithful  agent,  who  knew 
the  mountain  passes,  busy  in  this  work  of  mercy. 

The  following  year,  1793,  longing  for  a  change 
from  these  dreadful  times,  she  visited  England,  and 
received  much  attention  from  prominent  persons, 
among  them  Fanny  Burny,  the  author  of  Ecelina, 


MADAME  DE  STAEL.  167 

who  owned  "  that  she  had  never  heard  conversation 
before.  The  most  animated  eloquence,  the  keenest 
observation,  the  most  sparkling  wit,  the  most  courtly 
grace,  were  united  to  charm  her." 

On  Jan.  21  of  this  3'ear,  the  unfortunate  King 
had  met  his  death  on  the  scaffold  before  an  im- 
mense throng  of  people.  Six  men  bound  him  to 
the  plank,  and  then  his  head  was  severed  from  his 
body  amid  the  shouts  and  waving  of  hats  of  the 
blood-thirsty  crowd.  Necker  had  begged  to  go  be- 
fore the  Convention  and  plead  for  his  king,  but  was 
refused.  Madame  de  Stael  wrote  a  vigorous  appeal 
to  the  nation  in  behalf  of  the  beautiful  and  tender- 
hearted INIarie  Antoinette  ;  but  on  Sept.  16,  1793, 
at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  in  an  open  cart, 
in  the  midst  of  thirty  thousand  troops  and  a  noisy 
rabble,  she,  too,  was  borne  to  the  scaffold  ;  and  when 
her  pale  face  was  held  up  bleeding  before  the  crowd, 
they  jeered  and  shouted  themselves  hoarse. 

The  next  year  1794,  Madame  Necker  died  at  Cop- 
pet,  whispering  to  her  husband,  "  We  shall  see  each 
other  in  Heaven."  "  She  looked  heavenward,"  said 
Necker  in  a  most  affecting  manner,  "listening 
while  I  prayed  ;  then,  in  dying,  raised  the  finger  of 
her  left  hand,  which  wore  the  ring  I  had  given  her, 
to  remind  me  of  the  pledge  engraved  upon  it,  to 
love  her  forever."  His  devotion  to  her  was  beau- 
tiful. "  No  language,"  says  his  daughter,  "  can  give 
any  adequate  idea  of  it.  Exhausted  by  wakeful- 
ness at  night,  she  slept  often  in  the  daytime,  rest- 


168  MADAME  DE  STAEL. 

ing  her  head  on  his  arm.  I  have  seen  him  remain 
immovable,  for  hours  together,  standing  in  the 
same  position  for  fear  of  awakeiiing  her  by  the  least 
movement.  Absent  from  her  during  a  few  hours  of 
sleep,  he  inquired,  on  his  return,  of  her  attendant, 
if  she  had  asked  for  him?  She  could  no  longer 
speak,  but  made  an  effort  to  sa}^  '  yes,  yes.' " 

When  the  Revolution  was  over,  and  France  had 
become  a  republic,  Sweden  sent  back  her  ambassa- 
dor, Baron  de  Stael,  and  his  wife  retui-ned  to  him  at 
Paris.  Again  her  salon  became  the  centre  for  the 
great  men  of  the  time.  She  loved  libert}",  and  be- 
lieved in  the  republican  form  of  government.  She 
had  written  her  book  upon  the  Influence  of  the  Pas- 
sions on  the  Happiness  of  Individuals  and  Nations^ 
prompted  by  the  horrors  of  the  Revolution,  and  it 
was  considered  "  irresistible  in  energy  and  dazzling 
in  thought." 

She  was  also  devoting  much  time  to  her  child, 
Auguste,  developing  him  without  punishment,  think- 
ins:  that  there  had  been  too  much  ris^or  in  her  own 
childhood.  He  well  repaid  her  for  her  gentleness 
and  trust,  and  was  inseparable  from  her  through 
life,  becoming  a  noble  Christian  man,  and  the  helper 
of  all  good  causes.  Meantime  Madame  de  Stael 
saw  with  alarm  the  growing  influence  of  the  young 
Corsican  officer,  Bonaparte.  The  chief  executive 
power  had  been  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  Directory, 
and  he  had  control  of  the  army.  He  had  won  bril- 
liant victories  in  Ttalv,  and  had  been    made    com- 


MADAME  DE  STAEL.  169 

uuindLU'-iu-chief  of  the  expedition  against  Egypt. 
He  now  returned  to  Paris,  turned  out  the  Directory, 
drove  out  the  Council  of  Five  Hundred  from  the 
hall  of  the  Assembl}'  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet, 
made  the  government  into  a  consulate  with  three 
consuls,  of  whom  he  was  the  first,  and  lived  at  the 
Tuileries  in  almost  royal  style. 

All  this  time  Madame  de  Stael  felt  the  egotism  and 
heartlessness  of  Napoleon.  Hev  salon  became  more 
crowded  than  ever  with  those  who  had  their  fears 
for  the  future.  "  The  most  eloquent  of  the  Repub- 
lican orators  were  those  who  borrowed  from  her  most 
of  their  ideas  and  telling  phrases.  Most  of  them 
went  forth  from  her  door  with  speeches  ready  for  the 
next  day,  and  with  resolution  to  pronounce  them  — 
a  courage  which  was  also  derived  from  her."  Lucien 
and  Joseph  Bonaparte,  the  brothers  of  Napoleon, 
were  proud  of  her  friendship,  and  often  were  guests 
at  her  house,  until  forbidden  by  their  brother. 

When  Benjamin  Constant  made  a  speech  against 
the  "  rising  tyranny,"  Napoleon  suspected  that  she 
had  prompted  it,  and  denounced  her  heartily,  all  the 
time  declaring  that  he  loved  the  Republic,  and  would 
always  defend  it !  He  said  persons  always  came 
away  from  De  Stael's  home  "less  his  friends  than 
when  they  entered."  About  this  time  her  book. 
Literature  considered  in  its  Relation  to  Social  Institu- 
tions, was  publi.slied,  and  made  a  surprising  impres- 
sion from  its  wealth  of  knowledge  and  i)Ower  of 
thought.     Its  analvsis  of  Greek  and  Latin  literature. 


170  MADAME  DE  STAEL. 

aud  the  chief  works  in  Italian,  English.  German,  and 
French,  astonished  everybody,  because  written  by  a 
woman ! 

Soon  after  Necker  published  his  Last  Vieivs  of 
Politics  and  Finance,  in  which  he  wrote  against  the 
tyranny'  of  a  single  man.  At  once  Napoleon  caused 
a  sharp  ietter  to  be  written  to  Necker  advising  him 
to  leave  politics  to  the  First  Consul,  "  who  was  alone 
able  to  govern  France,"  and  threatening  his  daughter 
with  exile  for  her  supposed  aid  in  his  book.  She 
saw  the  wisdom  of  escaping  from  France,  lest  she  be 
imprisoned,  and  immediately  hastened  to  Coppet. 
A  few  months  later,  in  the  winter  of  1802,  she  re- 
turned to  Paris  to  bring  home  Baron  de  Stael,  who 
was  ill,  and  from  whom  she  had  separated  because 
he  was  spending  all  her  fortune  and  that  of  her  three 
children.     He  died  on  the  journey. 

Virtually  banished  from  France,  she  now  wrote 
her  Delphine,  a  brilliant  novel  which  was  widely 
read.  It  received  its  name  from  a  singular  circiuii- 
stance. 

"•  Desirous  of  meeting  the  First  Consul  for  some 
urgent  reason,''  says  Dr.  Stevens  in  his  charming 
biography  of  Madame  de  Stael,  ''she  went  to  the 
villa  of  Madame  de  Montessan,  whither  he  frequently 
resorted.  She  was  alone  in  one  of  the  salles  when 
he  arrived,  accompanied  by  the  consular  court  of 
brilliant  young  women.  The  latter  knew  the  grow- 
ing hostility  of  their  master  toward  her,  and  passed, 
without  noticing  her,  to  the  other  end  of  the  salle, 


MADAME  DE  STAEL.  171 

leaving  her  entirely  alone.  Her  position  was  becom- 
ing extremely  painful,  when  a  3'oung  lady,  more 
courageous  and  more  compassionate  than  her  com- 
panions, crossed  the  salle  and  took  a  seat  by  her  side. 
Madame  de  Stael  was  touched  by  this  kindness, 
and  asked  for  her  Christian  name.  '  Delphine,'  she 
responded.  'Ah,  I  will  try  to  immortalize  it,'  ex- 
claimed Madame  de  Stael ;  and  she  kept  her  word. 
This  sensible  young  lady  was  the  Comtesse  de 
Custine." 

Her  home  at  Coppet  became  the  home  of  many 
great  people.  Sismondi,  the  author  of  the  History 
of  the  Italian  Republics^  and  Literature  of  Southern 
Europe^  encouraged  by  her,  wrote  here  several  of  his 
famous  works.  Bonstetten  made  his  home  here  for 
years.  Schlegel,  the  greatest  critic  of  his  age,  be- 
came the  teacher  of  her  children,  and  a  most  inti- 
mate friend.  Benjamin  Constant,  the  author  and 
statesman,  was  here.  All  repaired  to  their  rooms 
for  work  in  the  morning,  and  in  the  evening  enjoyed 
philosophic,  literary,  and  political  discussions. 

Bonstetten  said:  "  In  seeing  her,  in  hearing  her, 
I  feel  myself  electrified.  .  .  .  She  daily  becomes 
greater  and  better ;  but  souls  of  great  talent  have 
great  sufferings  :  they  are  solitary  in  the  world,  like 
Mont  Blanc." 

In  the  autumn  of  1803,  longing  for  Paris,  she  ven- 
tured to  within  ten  leagues  and  hired  a  quiet  home. 
Word  was  soon  borne  to  Napoleon  that  the  road  to 
her  house  was  throno-ed  with  visitors.     He  at  once 


172  MADAME  DE  STAEL. 

sent  an  officer  with  a  letter  signed  by  himself,  exiling 
her  to  forty  leagues  from  Paris,  and  commanding 
her  to  leave  within  twenty-four  hours. 

At  once  she  fled  to  Germany.  At  Frankfort  her 
little  daughter  was  dangerously  ill.  "I  knew  no 
person  in  the  city,"  she  writes.  "  I  did  not  know 
the  language  ;  and  the  physician  to  whom  I  confided 
m}'  child  could  not  speak  French.  But  my  father 
shared  my  trouble ;  he  consulted  physicians  at 
Geneva,  and  sent  me  their  prescri))tions.  Oh,  what 
would  become  of  a  mother  trembling  for  the  life  of 
her  child,  if  it  were  not  for  prayer  !  " 

Going  to  Weimar,  she  met  Goethe,  Wieland,  Schil- 
ler, and  other  noted  men.  At  Berh'n,  the  greatest 
attention  was  shown  her.  The  beautiful  Louise  of 
Prussia  welcomed  her  heartily.  During  this  exile  her 
father  died,  with  his  latest  breath  saying,  "  She  has 
loved  me  dearh^ !  She  has  loved  me  dearh'  I  "  On 
his  death-bed  he  wrote  a  letter  to  Bonaparte  telling 
him  that  his  daughter  was  in  nowise  responsible  for 
his  book,  but  it  was  never  answered.  It  was  enough 
for  Napoleon  to  know  that  she  did  not  flatter  him  ; 
therefore  he  wished  her  out  of  the  way. 

Madame  de  Stael  was  for  a  time  completely  over- 
come b}^  Necker's  death.  She  wore  his  picture  on 
her  person  as  long  as  she  lived.  Only  once  did  she 
part  with  it,  and  then  she  imagined  it  might  console 
her  daughter  in  her  illness.  Giving  it  to  her,  she 
said,  "  Gaze  upon  it,  gaze  upon  it,  when  you  are  in 
pain." 


MADAME  DE  STAEL.  173 

She  DOW  sought  repose  in  Italy,  preparing  those 
beautiful  descriptions  for  her  Corinne^  and  finallj- 
returning  to  Coppet,  spent  a  year  in  writing  her  book. 
It  was  published  in  Paris,  and,  says  Sainte-Beuve, 
"  its  success  was  instantaneous  and  universal.  As 
a  work  of  art,  as  a  poem,  the  romance  of  Corinne  is 
an  immortal  monument."  Jeffrey,  in  the  Edinhurgh 
Review,  called  the  author  the  greatest  writer  in  France 
since  Voltaire  and  Rousseau,  and  the  greatest  woman 
writer  of  an}^  age  or  country.  Napoleon,  however, 
in  his  official  paper,  caused  a  scathing  criticism  on 
Corinne  to  appear  ;  indeed,  it  was  declared  to  be  from 
his  own  pen.  She  was  told  by  the  Minister  of 
Police,  that  she  had  but  to  insert  some  praise  of 
Napoleon  in  Corinne^  and  she  would  be  welcomed 
back  to  Paris.  She  could  not,  however,  live  a  lie, 
and  she  feared  Napoleon  had  evil  designs  upon 
France. 

Again  she  visited  Germany  with  her  children, 
Schlegel,  and  Sismondi.  So  eager  was  everybody  to 
see  her  and  hear  her  talk,  that  Bettina  von  Arnini 
saj^s  in  her  correspondence  with  Ga4he  :  "  The  gen- 
tlemen stood  around  the  table  and  planted  themselves 
behind  us,  elbowing  one  another.  They  leaned  quite 
over  me,  and  I  said  in  French,  '  Your  adorers  quite 
suffocate  me.'  " 

AVhile  in  Germany,  her  eldest  son,  then  seventeen, 
had  an  interview  with  Bonaparte  about  the  return  of 
his  mother.  '•  Your  mother,"  said  Napoleon,  "could 
not  be  six  months  in  Paris  before  I  .•should  be  com- 


174  MADA3IE  DE  STAEL. 

pelled  to  seud  her  to  Bicetre  or  the  Temple.  I 
should  regret  this  necessity,  for  it  would  make  a 
noise  and  might  injure  me  a  little  in  public  opinion. 
Say,  therefore,  to  her  that  as  long  as  I  live  she 
cannot  re-enter  Paris.  I  see  what  you  wish,  but  it 
cannot  be  ;  she  will  commit  follies  ;  she  will  have  the 
world  about  her." 

On  her  return  to  Coppet,  she  spent  two  years  in 
writing  her  Allemagne,  for  which  she  had  been  mak- 
ing researches  for  four  years.  She  wished  it  pub- 
lished in  Paris,  as  Corinne  had  been,  and  submitted 
it  to  the  censors  of  the  Press.  They  crossed  out 
whatever  sentiments  they  thought  might  displease 
Napoleon,  and  then  ten  thousand  copies  were  at  once 
printed,  she  meantime  removing  to  France,  within 
her  proscribed  limits,  that  she  might  correct  the 
proof-sheets. 

What  was  her  astonishment  to  have  Napoleon 
order  the  whole  ten  thousand  destroyed,  and  her 
to  leave  France  in  three  days !  Her  two  sons  at- 
tempted to  see  Bonaparte,  who  was  at  Fontainebleau, 
but  were  ordered  to  turn  back,  or  they  would  be 
arrested.  The  only  reason  given  for  destroying  the 
work  was  the  fact  that  she  had  been  silent  about  the 
great  but  egotistical  Emperor. 

Broken  in  spirit,  she  returned  to  Geneva.  Amid 
all  this  darkness  a  new  ligiit  was  about  to  beam 
upon  her  life.  In  the  social  gatherings  made  for 
her,  she  observed  a  young  army  officer.  Monsieur 
Rocca,  broken   in  health  from  his   many   wounds, 


MADAME  DE  STAEL.  175 

but  handsome  and  noble  in  face,  and,  as  she  learned, 
of  irreproachable  life.  Though  only  twenty-three 
and  she  forty-five,  the  young  officer  was  fascinated 
by  her  conversation,  and  refreshed  in  spirits  b}'  her 
presence.  She  sympathized  with  his  misfortunes  in 
battle  ;  she  admired  his  courage.  He  was  lofty  in 
sentiments,  tender  in  heart,  and  gave  her  what  she 
had  always  needed,  an  unselfish  and  devoted  love. 
When  discouraged  by  his  friends,  he  replied,  "I 
will  love  her  so  much  that  I  will  finish  by  making 
her  marry  me." 

Tliey  were  married  in  1811,  and  the  marriage  was 
a  singularly  bappy  one.  The  reason  for  it  is  not 
difficult  to  perceive.  A  marriage  that  has  not  a 
pretty  face  or  a  passing  fancy  for  its  foundation, 
but  appreciation  of  a  gifted  mind  and  noble  heart, — 
such  a  marriage  stands  the  test  of  time. 

The  marriage  was  kept  secret  from  all  save  a  few 
intimate  friends,  Madame  de  Stael  fearino-  that  if  the 
news  reached  Napoleon,  Rocca  would  be  ordered 
back  to  France.  Her  fears  were  only  too  well 
founded.  Schlegel,  Madame  Recamier,  all  who  hnd 
shown  any  sympath}'  for  her,  began  to  be  exiled. 
She  was  forbidden  under  any  pretext  whatever  from 
travelling  in  Switzerland,  or  entering  any  region 
annexed  to  France.  She  was  advised  not  to  go  two 
leagues  from  Coppet,  lest  she  be  imprisoned,  and 
this  with  Napoleon  usually  meant  death. 

The  Emperor  seemed  about  to  conquer  tlie  whole 
world.     Wliither  could  she  fl}'  to  escape  his  perse- 


176  ^fADAME  DE  STAEL. 

cntion?  She  louged  to  reach  EDgland,  but  there 
was  an  edict  against  any  French  subject  entering 
that  country  without  special  permit.  Truly  his  heel 
was  upon  France.  The  only  way  to  reacli  that 
country  was  through  Austria,  Russia,  and  Sweden, 
two  thousand  leagues.  But  she  must  attempt  it. 
She  passed  an  hour  in  prayer  by  her  parent's  tomb, 
kissed  his  armchair  and  table,  and  took  his  cloak 
to  wrap  herself  in  should  death  come. 

Ma\'  23,  1812,  she,  with  Rocca  and  two  of  her 
children,  began  their  flight  by  carriage,  not  telling 
the  servants  at  the  chateau,  l)ut  that  they  should 
return  for  the  next  meal. 

They  reached  Vienna  June  G,  and  were  at  once 
put  under  surveillance.  Everywhere  she  saw  pla- 
cards admonishing  the  officers  to  watch  her  sharply. 
Rocca  had  to  make  his  way  alone,  because  Bona- 
parte had  ordered  his  arrest.  They  were  permitted 
to  remain  only  a  few  hours  in  any  place.  Once 
Madame  de  Stael  was  so  overcome  by  this  brutal 
treatment  that  she  lost  consciousness,  and  was 
obliged  to  be  taken  from  her  carriage  to  the  road- 
side till  she  recovered.  Every  hour  she  expected 
arrest  and  death. 

Finally,  worn  in  body,  she  reached  Russia,  and 
was  cordially  received  by  Alexander  and  Empress 
Elizabeth.  From  here  she  went  to  Sweden,  and 
had  an  equally  cordial  welcome  from  Bernadotte, 
the  general  who  became  king.  Afterward  she  spent 
four  months   in   England,  bringing  out  Allemagne. 


MADAME  DE  STAEL.  Ill 

Here  she  received  a  perfect  ovation.  At  Lord 
Lansdowue's  the  first  ladies  in  the  kingdom  mounted 
on  chairs  and  tables  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her. 
Sir  James  Mackintosh  said  :  "  The  whole  fashiona- 
ble and  literary  world  is  occupied  with  Madame  de 
Stael,  the  most  celebrated  woman  of  this,  or  perhaps 
of  any  age."  Very  rare  must  be  the  case  where  a 
woman  of  fine  mind  does  not  have  many  admirers 
among  orentlemen. 

Her  Alleinagne  was  published  in  1813,  the  manu- 
script having  been  secretly  carried  over  Germany, 
Poland,  Russia,  Sweden,  and  the  Baltic  Sea.  The 
first  part  treated  of  the  manners  of  Germany  ;  the 
second,  its  literature  and  art ;  the  third,  its  philoso- 
phy and  morals  ;  the  fourth,  its  religion.  The  book 
had  a  wonderful  sale,  and  was  soon  translated  into 
all  the  principal  tongues  of  Europe.  Lamartine 
said  :  "  Her  style,  without  losing  any  of  its  youthful 
vigor  and  splendor,  seemed  now  to  be  illuminated 
with  more  lofty  and  eternal  lights  as  she  approached 
the  evening  of  life,  and  the  diviner  mysteries  of 
thought.  This  style  no  longer  paints,  no  longer 
chants  ;  it  adores.  .  .  .  Her  name  will  live  as  long 
as  literature,  as  long  as  the  history  of  her  country." 

Meantime,  great  changes  had  taken  place  in 
France.  Napoleon  had  been  defeated  at  Leipsic, 
leaving  a  quarter  of  a  million  murdered  on  his  bat- 
tle-fields ;  he  had  abdicated,  and  was  on  his  way  to 
Elba.  She  immediately  returned  to  Paris,  with 
much   the   same  feeling   as  Victor  Hugo,  when   he 


178  MADAME  DE  STAEL. 

wept  as  he  came  from  his  long  exile  under  "  Napo- 
leou  the  Little."  Again  to  her  salon  came  kings 
and  generals,  Alexander  of  Russia,  Wellington,  and 
others. 

But  soon  Napoleon  returned,  and  she  fled  to 
Coppet.  He  sent  her  an  invitation  to  come  to  Paris, 
declaring  he  would  now  live  for  the  peace  of  Europe, 
but  she  could  not  trust  him.  She  saw  lier  daughter, 
lovely  and  beautiful,  married  to  the  Due  de  Broglie, 
a  leading  statesman,  and  was  happv  in  her  happi- 
ness. Rocca's  health  was  failing,  and  they  repaired 
to  Italy  for  a  time. 

In  1816  they  returned  to  Paris,  Napoleon  having 
gone  from  his  final  defeat  to  St.  Helena.  But 
Madame  de  Stael  was  broken  with  her  trials.  She 
seemed  to  grow  more  and  more  frail,  till  the  end 
came.  She  said  frequently,  '•  M}'  father  awaits  me 
on  the  other  shore."  To  Chateaubriand  she  said, 
"  I  have  loved  God,  my  father,  and  my  country." 
She  could  not  and  would  not  go  to  sleep  the  last 
night,  for  fear  she  might  never  look  upon  Rocca 
again.  He  begged  her  to  sleep  and  he  would  awaken 
her  often.  "  Good  night,"  she  said,  and  it  was  for- 
ever. She  never  wakened.  They  buried  her  beside 
her  father  at  Coppet,  under  the  grand  old  trees. 
Rocca  died  in  seven  months,  at  the  age  of  thirty-one. 
"  I  hoped,"  he  said,  "  to  have  died  in  her  arms." 

Her  little  son,  and  Rocca's,  five  years  old,  was 
cared  for  by  Auguste  and  Albertine,  her  daughter. 
After  Madame  de  Stael's  death,  her  Considerations 


MADAME  DE  STAEL.  179 

on  the  French  llevolution  and  Ten  Years  of  Exile 
were  published.  Of  the  former,  Sainte-Beuve  sa3's  : 
"  Its  publication  was  an  event.  It  was  the  splendid 
public  obsequies  of  the  authoress.  Its  politics  were 
destined  to  long  and  passionate  discussions  and  a 
durable  influence.  She  is  perfect  only  from  this 
day  ;  the  full  influence  of  her  star  is  only  at  her 
tomb." 

Chateaubriand  said,  "  Her  death  made  one  of  those 
breaches  which  the  fall  of  a  superior  intellect  pro- 
duces once  in  an  age,  and  which  can  never  be 
closed." 

As  kind  as  she  was  great,  loving  deeply  and  receiv- 
ing love  in  return,  she  has  left  an  imperishable  name. 
No  wonder  that  thousands  visit  that  quiet  grave  be- 
side Lake  Geneva. 


180  BOSA  BONHEUR. 


ROSA   BONHEUR. 


-oo^iKc 


IN  a  simple  home  in  Paris  could  have  been  seen, 
in  1829,  Raymond  Bonheur  and  his  little  fam- 
iW,  —  Rosa,  seven  3'ears  old,  August,  Isadore,  and 
Juliette.  He  was  ji  man  of  fine  talent  in  paiiiting, 
but  obliged  to  spend  his  time  in  giving  drawing- 
lessons  to  support  his  children.  His  wife,  Sophie, 
gave  lessons  on  the  piano,  going  from  house  to 
house  all  da}^  long,  and  sometimes  sewing  half  the 
night,  to  earn  a  little  more  for  the  necessities  of  life. 

Hard  work  and  poverty  soon  bore  its  usual  fruit, 
and  the  tired  3'oung  mother  died  in  1833.  The 
three  oldest  children  were  sent  to  board  with  a  plain 
woman,  "  La  m^re  Catherine,"  in  the  Champs  Eh'- 
sees,  and  the  3'oungest  was  placed  with  relatives. 
For  two  3'ears  this  good  woman  cared  for  the  chil- 
dren, sending  them  to  school,  though  she  was  greatly 
troubled  because  Rosa  persisted  in  playing  in  the 
woods  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  gathering  her  arms 
full  of  daisies  and  marigolds,  rather  than  to  be  shut 
up  in  a  schoolroom.  "I  never  spent  an  hour  of 
fine  weather  indoors  during  the  whole  of  the  two 
years,"  she  has  often  said  since  those  days. 

Finallv  the  father  married  as^ain  and  brouo-ht  the 


ROSA   BONHEUR. 


ROSA  BONHEUR.  181 

children  home.  The  two  boys  were  placed  in  school, 
and  M.  Bonheur  paid  their  way  by  giving  drawing- 
lessons  three  times  a  week  in  the  institution.  If 
Rosa  did  not  love  school,  she  must  be  taught  some- 
thing useful,  and  she  was  accordingly  placed  in  a 
sewing  establishment  to  become  a  seamstress. 

The  child  hated  sewing,  ran  the  needle  into  her 
fingers  at  every  stitch,  cried  for  the  fresh  air  and 
sunshine,  and  finally,  becoming  pale  and  sickly,  was 
taken  back  to  the  jBonheur  home.  The  anxious 
painter  would  try  his  child  once  more  in  school ;  so 
he  arranged  that  she  should  attend,  with  compensa- 
tion met  in  the  same  way  as  for  his  boys.  Rosa 
soon  became  a  favorite  with  the  girls  in  the  Fau- 
borg  St.  Antoine  School,  especially  because  she 
could  draw  such  witty  caricatures  of  the  teachers, 
which  she  pasted  against  the  wall,  with  bread  chewed 
into  the  consistency  of  putt}'.  The  teachers  were 
not  pleased,  but  so  struck  were  they  with  the  vigor 
and  originality  of  the  drawings,  that  they  carefully 
preserved  the  sketches  in  an  album. 

The  girl  was  far  from  happy.  Naturally  sensi- 
tive —  as  what  poet  or  painter  was  ever  born  other- 
wise?—  she  could  not  bear  to  wear  a  calico  dress 
and  coarse  shoes,  and  eat  with  an  iron  spoon  from 
a  tin  cup,  when  the  other  girls  wore  handsome 
dresses,  and  had  silver  mugs  and  spoons.  She  grew 
melancholy,  neglected  her  books,  and  finally  became 
so  ill  that  she  was  obliged  to  be  taken  home. 

And  now  Ravmond  Bonheur  verv  wisely  decided 


182  ROSA  BOXHEUR. 

not  to  make  plans  for  his  child  for  a  time,  but  see 
what  was  her  natm-al  tendeucy.  It  was  well  that 
he  made  this  decision  in  time,  before  she  had  been 
spoiled  by  his  well-meant  but  poor  intentions. 

Left  to  herself,  she  constantly  hung  about  her 
father's  studio,  now  drawing,  now  modeling,  copy- 
ing whatever  she  saw  him  do.  She  seemed  never 
to  be  tired,  but  sang  at  her  work  all  the  day  long. 

Monsieur  Bonheur  suddenly  awoke  to  the  fact 
that  his  daughter  had  great  talent.  He  began  to 
teach  her  carefully,  to  make  her  accurate  in  draw- 
ing, and  correct  in  perspective.  Then  he  sent  her 
to  the  Louvre  to  copy  the  works  of  the  old  masters. 
Here  she  worked  with  the  greatest  industry  and  en- 
thusiasm, not  observing  anything  that  was  going  on 
around  her.  Said  the  director  of  the  Louvre,  "  I 
have  never  seen  an  example  of  such  application  and 
such  ardor  for  work." 

One  day  an  elderly  Euglish  gentleman  stopped 
beside  her  easel,  and  said  :  '•  Your  copy,  my  child, 
is  superb,  faultless.  Persevere  as  you  have  begun, 
and  I  prophesy  that  you  will  be  a  great  artist." 
How  glad  those  few  words  made  her  I  She  went 
home  thinking  over  to  herself  the  determination  she 
had  made  in  the  school  when  she  ate  with  her  iron 
spoon,  that  sometime  she  would  be  as  famous  as  her 
schoolmates,  and  have  some  of  the  comforts  of  life. 

Her  copies  of  the  old  masters  were  soon  sold,  and 
though  the}'  brought  small  prices,  she  gladly  gave 
tlie  monev  to  her  father,  who  needed  it  now  more 


ROSA  BONHEUR.  183 

than  ever.  His  second  wife  had  two  sons  when  he 
married  her,  and  now  they  had  a  third,  Germain, 
and  every  cent  that  Rosa  could  earn  was  needed  to 
help  support  seven  children.  '•  La  mamiclie,"  as 
they  called  the  new  mother,  was  an  excellent  man- 
ager of  the  meagre  finances,  and  filled  her  place 
well. 

Rosa  was  now  seventeen,  loving  landscape,  his- 
torical, and  genre  painting,  perhaps  equally ;  but 
happening  to  paint  a  goat,  she  was  so  pleased  in  the 
work,  that  she  determined  to  make  animal  painting 
a  specialty.  Having  no  money  to  procure  models, 
she  must  needs  make  long  walks  into  the  country  on 
foot  to  the  farms.  She  would  take  a  piece  of  bread 
in  her  pocket,  and  generally  forget  to  eat  it.  After 
working  all  day,  she  would  come  home  tired,  often 
drenched  vrith  rain,  and  her  shoes  covered  with 
mud. 

She  took  other  means  to  study  animals.  In  the 
outskirts  of  Paris  were  great  abattoirs^  or  slaughter- 
pens.  Though  the  girl  tenderly  loved  animals,  and 
shrank  from  the  sight  of  suffering,  she  forced  her- 
self to  see  the  killing,  that  she  might  know  how  to 
depict  the  death  agony  on  canvas.  Though  obliged 
to  mingle  more  or  less  with  drovers  and  butchers, 
no  indignity  was  ever  offered  her.  As  she  sat  on  a 
bundle  of  hay,  with  her  colors  about  her,  they  would 
crowd  around  to  look  at  the  pictures,  and  regard 
her  with  honest  pride.  The  world  soon  learns 
whether  a  girl  is  in  earnest  about  her  work,  and 
treats  her  accordingly. 


184  nOSA   BOXHEUn. 

The  Bonheur  family  bad  moved  to  the  sixth  story 
of  a  tenement  house  in  the  Rue  Rumfort,  now  the 
Rue  Malesherbes.  The  sons,  Auguste  and  Isadore, 
had  both  become  artists  ;  the  former  a  painter,  the 
latter  a  sculptor.  Even  little  Juliette  was  learning 
to  paint.  Rosa  was  working  hard  all  day  at  her 
easel,  and  at  night  was  illustrating  books,  or  mold- 
ing little  groups  of  animals  for  the  figure-dealers. 
All  the  family  were  happy  despite  their  poverty, 
because  the}'  had  congenial  work. 

On  the  roof,  Rosa  improvised  a  sort  of  garden, 
with  honeysuckles,  sweet-peas,  and  nasturtiums, 
and  here  they  kept  a  sheep,  with  long,  silky  wool, 
for  a  model.  Very  often  Isadore  would  take  him 
on  his  back  and  cany  him  down  the  six  flights  of 
stairs,  —  the  day  of  elevators  had  not  dawned, — 
and  after  he  had  enjoyed  grazing,  would  bring  him 
back  to  his  garden  home.  It  was  a  docile  creature, 
and  much  loved  by  the  whole  family.  For  Rosa's 
birds,  the  brothers  constructed  a  net,  which  they 
hung  outside  the  window,  and  then  opened  the  cage 
into  it. 

At  nineteen  Rosa  was  to  test  the  world,  and  see 
what  the  critics  would  say.  She  sent  to  the  Fine 
Arts  Exhibition  two  pictures,  "Goats  and  Sheep" 
and  "  Two  Rabbits."  The  public  was  pleased,  and 
the  press  gave  kind  notices.  The  next  year  "  Ani- 
mals in  a  Pasture,"  a  "Cow  lying  in  a  Meadow," 
and  a  "  Horse  for  sale,"  attracted  still  more  atten- 
tion.    Two  years  later  she  exhibited  twelve  pictures, 


nOSA  BONHEUR.  185 

some  from  her  father  and  brother  being  hung  on 
either  side  of  hers,  the  first  time  the}'  had  been 
admitted.  More  and  more  the  critics  praised,  and 
the  pathway  of  the  Bonheur  family  grew  less 
thoru^^ 

Then,  in  1849,  when  she  was  twenty -seven,  came 
the  triumph.  Her  magnificent  picture,  "  Cantal 
Oxen,"  took  the  gold  medal,  and  was  purchased  by 
England.  Horace  Vernet,  the  president  of  the  com- 
mission of  awards,  in  the  midst  of  a  brilliant  assem- 
bl}',  proclaimed  the  new  laureate,  and  gave  her,  in 
behalf  of  the  government,  a  superb  Sevres  vase. 

Raymond  Bonheur  seemed  to  become  young  again 
at  this  fame  of  his  child.  It  brought  honors  to  him 
also,  for  he  was  at  once  made  director  of  the  gov- 
ernment school  of  design  for  girls.  But  the  release 
from  poverty  and  anxiety  came  too  late,  and  he  died 
the  same  year,  greatly  lamented  by  his  family. 
"  He  had  grand  ideas,"  said  his  daughter,  "  and  had 
he  not  been  obliged  to  give  lessons  for  our  support, 
he  would  have  been  more  known,  and  to-day  ac- 
knowledged with  other  masters." 

Rosa  was  made  director  in  his  place,  and  Juliette 
became  a  professor  in  the  school.  This  same  year 
appeared  her  "Plowing  Scene  in  the  Nivernais," 
now  in  the  Luxembourg  Gallery,  thought  to  be  her 
most  important  work  after  her  '•  Horse  Fair." 
Orders  now  poured  in  upon  her,  so  that  she  could 
not  accede  to  half  the  requests  for  work.  A  rich 
Hollander  offered  her  one  thousand  crowns  for  a 


186  BOS  A  BOXHEUB. 

painting  which  she  could  have  wrought  in  two  hours  ; 
but  she  refused. 

P'our  years  later,  after  eighteen  long  months  of 
preparatory'  studies,  her  "  Horse  Fair"  was  painted. 
This  created  the  greatest  enthusiasm  both  in  England 
and  America.  It  was  sold  to  a  gentleman  in  Eng- 
land for  eight  thousand  dollars,  and  was  finally  pur- 
chased b}'  A.  T.  Stewart,  of  New  York,  for  his 
famous  collection.  Xo  one  who  has  seen  this  picture 
will  ever  forget  the  action  and  vigor  of  these  Nor- 
mandy horses.  In  painting  it,  a  petted  horse,  it  is 
said,  stepped  back  upon  the  canvas,  putting  his  hoof 
through  it,  thus  spoiling  the  work  of  months. 

So  greatly  was  this  picture  admired,  that  Napoleon 
III.  was  urged  to  bestow  upon  her  the  Cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor,  entitled  her  from  French  usage. 
Though  she  was  invited  to  the  state  dinner  at  the 
Tuileries,  always  given  to  artists  to  whom  the  Acad- 
emy of  Fine  Arts  has  awarded  its  highest  honors. 
Napoleon  had  not  the  courage  to  give  it  to  her,  lest 
public  opinion  might  not  agree  with  him  in  conferring 
it  upon  a  woman.  Possibly  he  felt,  more  than  the 
world  knew,  the  insecurity  of  his  throne. 

Henry  Bacon,  in  the  Century^  thus  describes  the 
way  in  which  Rosa  Bonheur  finally  received  the  badge 
of  distinction.  "  The  Emperor,  leaving  Paris  for  a 
short  summer  excursion  in  1865,  left  the  Empress  as 
Regent.  From  the  imperial  residence  at  Fontaine- 
bleau  it  was  only  a  short  drive  to  By  (the  home  of 
Mademoiselle  Bonheur) .    The  countersign  at  the  gate 


ROSA  BONHEUR.  187 

was  forced,  and  unannounced,  the  Empress  entered 
the  studio  where  Mademoiselle  Rosa  was  at  work. 
She  rose  to  receive  the  visitor,  who  threw  her  arras 
about  her  neck  and  kissed  her.  It  was  only  a  short 
interview.  The  imperial  vision  had  departed,  the 
rumble  of  the  carriage  and  the  crack  of  the  outriders' 
whips  were  lost  in  the  distance.  Then,  and  not  till 
then,  did  the  artist  discover  that  as  the  Empress  had 
given  the  kiss,  she  had  pinned  upon  her  blouse  the 
Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor."  Since  then  she  has 
received  the  Leopold  Cross  of  Honor  from  the  King 
of  Belgium,  said  to  be  the  first  ever  conferred  upon 
a  woman  ;  also  a  decoration  from  the  King  of  Spain. 
Her  brother  Auguste,  now  dead,  received  the  Cross 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor  in  1867,  two  years  after 
Rosa. 

Li  preparing  to  paint  the  "  Horse  Fair  "  and  other 
similar  pictures,  which  have  brought  her  much  into 
the  company  of  men,  she  has  found  it  wise  to  dress 
in  male  costume.  A  laughable  incident  is  related  of 
this  mode  of  dress.  One  day  when  she  returned 
from  the  countr}^,  she  found  a  messenger  awaiting 
to  announce  to  her  the  sudden  illness  of  one  of  her 
young  friends.  Rosa  did  not  wait  to  change  her 
male  attire,  but  hastened  to  the  bedside  of  the  young 
lady.  In  a  few  minutes  after  her  arrival,  the  doctor, 
who  had  been  sent  for,  entered,  and  seeing  a  3'oung 
man,  as  he  supposed,  seated  on  the  side  of  the  bed, 
with  his  arm  round  the  neck  of  the  sick  girl,  thought 
he  was  an  intruder,  and  retreated  with  all  possible 


188  HOSA   BOKHEUn. 

speed.  "  Oh  !  run  after  him  !  He  thinks  3^00  are  my 
lover,  and  has  gone  and  left  me  to  die  !  "  cried  the 
sick  girl.  Rosa  flew  down  stairs,  and  soon  returned 
with  the  modest  doctor. 

She  also  ne^eds  this  mannish  costume,  for  her 
long  journeys  over  the  Pyrenees  into  Spain  or  in 
the  Scottish  Highlands.  She  is  always  accompanied 
by  her  most  intimate  friend,  Mademoiselle  Micas, 
herself  an  artist  of  repute,  whose  mother,  a  widow, 
superintends  the  home  for  the  two  devoted  friends. 

Sometimes  in  the  Pyrenees  these  two  ladies  see 
no  one  for  six  weeks  but  muleteers  with  their  mules. 
The  people  in  these  lonely  mountain  passes  live  en- 
tirely upon  the  curdled  milk  of  sheep.  Once  Rosa 
Bonheur  and  her  friend  were  nearly  starving,  when 
Mademoiselle  Micas  obtained  a  quantity  of  frogs, 
and  covering  the  hind  legs  with  leaves,  roasted  them 
over  a  fire.     On  these  they  lived  for  two  days. 

In  Scotland  she  painted  her  exquisite  "Denizens 
of  the  Mountains,"  '-Morning  in  the  Highlands," 
and  "  Crossing  a  Loch  in  the  Highlands."  In  Eng- 
land she  was  treated  like  a  princess.  Sir  Edwin 
Landseer,  whom  some  persons  thought  she  would 
marry,  is  reported  to  have  said,  when  he  first  looked 
upon  her  ''  Horse  Fair,"  "  It  surpasses  me,  though 
it's  a  little  hard  to  be  beaten  by  a  woman."  On  her 
return  to  France  she  brought  a  skye-terrier,  named 
"  Wasp,"  of  which  she  is  very  fond,  and  for  which 
she  has  learned  several  English  phrases.  When  she 
speaks  to  him  in  English,  he  wags  his  tail  most 
appreciatively. 


HOSA   BONHEUR.  189 

Rosa  Boiilieur  stands  at  the  head  of  her  profes- 
sion, an  acknowledged  master.  Her  pictures  bring 
enormous  sums,  and  have  brought  her  wealth.  A 
"View  in  the  Pja-enees "  has  been  sold  for  ten 
thousand  dollars,  and  some  others  for  twice  that 
sum. 

She  gives  away  much  of  her  income.  She  has 
been  known  to  send  to  the  Mont  de  Piete  her  gold 
medals  to  raise  funds  to  assist  poor  artists.  A 
woman  artist,  who  had  been  refused  help  by  several 
wealthy  painters,  applied  to  Rosa  Bonheur,  who  at 
once  took  down  from  the  wall  a  small  but  valuable 
painting,  and  gave  it  to  her,  from  which  she  received 
a  goodly  sum.  A  young  sculptor  who  greatly  ad- 
mired her  work,  enclosed  twenty  dollars,  asking  her 
for  a  small  drawing,  and  saying  that  this  was  all 
the  money  he  possessed.  She  immediately  sent  him 
a  sketch  worth  at  least  two  hundred  dollars.  She 
has  always  provided  most  generously  for  her  family, 
and  for  servants  who  have  grown  old  in  her  emplo}'. 

She  dresses  very  simply,  always  wearing  black, 
brown,  or  gray,  with  a  close  fitting  jacket  over  a 
plain  skirt.  When  she  accepts  a  social  invitation, 
wliich  is  ver}^  rare,  she  adorns  her  dress  with  a  lace 
collar,  but  without  other  ornament.  Her  working 
dress  is  usually  a  long  gray  linen  or  blue  flannel 
blouse,  reaching  nearly  from  head  to  foot.  She  has 
learned  that  the  conventional  tight  dress  of  women 
is  not  conducive  to  great  mental  or  physical  power. 
She  is  small  in  stature,  with  dainty  hands  and  feet, 
blue  eyes,  and  a  noble  and  intelligent  face. 


190  ROSA  BONHEUR. 

She  is  an  indefatigable  worker,  rising  usually  at 
six  in  the  morning,  and  painting  throughout  the  day. 

So  busy  is  she  that  she  seldom  permits  herself 
any  amusements.  On  one  occasion  she  had  tickets 
sent  her  for  the  theatre.  She  worked  till  the  car- 
riage was  announced.  "  Je  suis  prete.,''  said  Rosa, 
and  went  to  the  play  in  her  working  dress.  A 
daintily  gloved  man  in  the  box  next  to  hers  looked 
over  in  disdain,  and  finally  went  into  the  vestibule 
and  found  the  manager. 

"  Who  is  this  woman  in  the  box  next  to  mine?" 
he  said,  in  a  rage.  "  She's  in  an  old  calico  dress, 
covered  with  paint  and  oil.  The  odor  is  terrible. 
Turn  her  out.  If  you  do  not,  I  will  never  enter 
your  theatre  again." 

The  manager  went  to  the  box,  and  returning,  in- 
formed him  that  it  was  the  great  painter. 

"Rosa  Bonheur !  "  he  gasped.  "Who'd  have 
thought  it?  Make  my  apology  to  her.  I  dare  not 
enter  her  presence  again." 

She  usualh^  walks  at  the  twilight,  often  thinking 
out  new  subjects  for  her  brush,  at  that  quiet  hour. 
She  said  to  a  friend:  "I  have  been  a  faithful  stu- 
dent since  I  was  ten  years  old.  I  have  copied  no 
master.  I  have  studied  Nature,  and  expressed  to 
the  best  of  my  ability  the  ideas  and  feelings  with 
which  she  has  insph-ed  me.  Art  is  an  absorbent — 
a  tyrant.  It  demands  heart,  brain,  soul,  body,  the 
entireness  of  the  votary.  Nothing  less  will  win  its 
highest  favor.     I  wed  art.     It  is  my  husband,  my 


ROSA  BONHEUR.  191 

world,  my  life-dream,  the  air  I  breathe.  I  know 
nothing  else,  feel  nothing  else,  think  nothing  else. 
My  soul  finds  in  it  the  most  complete  satisfaction. 
...  I  have  no  taste  for  general  societ}^,  —  no  in- 
terest in  its  frivolities.  I  only  seek  to  be  known 
through  my  works.  If  the  world  feel  and  under- 
stand them,  I  have  succeeded.  ...  If  I  had  got 
up  a  convention  to  debate  the  question  of  my  ability 
to  paint  ^  Marche  au  C/ievaux'  [The  Horse  Fair], 
for  which  England  paid  me  forty  thousand  francs, 
the  decision  would  have  been  against  me.  I  felt 
the  power  within  me  to  paint ;  I  cultivated  it,  and 
have  produced  works  that  have  won  the  favorable 
verdicts  of  the  great  judges.  I  have  no  patience 
with  women  who  ask  pennission  to  tldnk!'' 

For  years  she  lived  in  Rue  d'Assas,  a  retired 
street  half  made  up  of  gardens.  Here  she  had  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  studios  of  Paris,  the  room 
lighted  from  the  ceiling,  the  walls  covered  with 
paintings,  with  here  and  there  old  armor,  tapestry, 
hats,  cloaks,  sandals,  and  skins  of  tigers,  leopards, 
foxes,  and  oxen  on  the  floor.  One  Friday,  the  day 
on  which  she  received  guests,  one  of  her  friends, 
coming  earlier  than  usual,  found  her  fast  asleep  on 
her  favorite  skin,  that  of  a  magnificent  ox,  with 
stuffed  head  and  spreading  horns.  She  had  come 
in  tired  from  the  School  of  Design,  and  had  thrown 
herself  down  to  rest.  Usually  after  greeting  her 
friends  she  would  say,  "  Allow  me  to  resume  my 
brush ;   we  can   talk  just   as   well   together."     For 


192  ROSA  BONHEUR. 

those  who  have  any  great  work  to  do  in  this  world, 
there  is  little  time  for  visiting  ;  interruptions  cannot 
be  permitted.  No  wonder  Carlyle  groaned  when 
some  person  had  taken  two  honrs  of  his  time.  He 
could  better  have  spared  money  to  the  visitor. 

For  several  years  Rosa  Bonheur  has  lived  near 
Fontainebleau,  in  the  Chateau  By.  Hemy  Bacon 
says:  "The  chateau  dates  from  the  time  of  Louis 
XV.,  and  the  garden  is  still  laid  out  in  the  style  of 
Le  N6tre.  Since  it  has  been  in  the  present  proprie- 
tor's possession,  a  quaint,  picturesque  brick  build- 
ing, containing  the  carriage  house  and  coachman's 
lodge  on  the  first  floor,  and  the  studio  on  the  second, 
hns  been  added ;  the  roof  of  the  main  building  has 
been  raised,  and  the  chapel  changed  into  an  orangery  : 
beside  the  main  carriage-entrance,  which  is  closed  by 
iron  gates  and  wooden  blinds,  is  a  postern  gate,  with 
a  small  grated  opening,  like  those  found  in  convents. 
The  blinds  to  the  gate  and  the  slide  to  the  grating 
are  generalW  closed,  and  the  only  communication  with 
the  outside  world  is  by  the  bell-wire,  terminating 
in  a  ring  beside  the  gate.  Ring,  and  the  jingle  of 
the  bell  is  at  once  echoed  by  the  barking  of  numer- 
ous dogs, —  the  hounds  and  bassets  in  chorus,  the 
grand  Saint  Bernard  in  slow  measure,  like  the  bass- 
drum  in  an  orchestra.  After  the  first  excitement 
among  the  dogs  has  begun  to  abate,  a  remarkably 
small  house-pet  that  has  been  somewhere  in  the  inte- 
rior arrives  upon  the  scene,  and  with  his  sharp,  shrill 
voice  again  starts  and  leads  the  canine  chorus.  By 
this  time  the  eagle  in  his  cage  has  awakened,  and  the 


ROSA   BONHEUR.  193 

parrot,  whose  cage  is  built  into  the  corner  of  the 
studio  looking  upon  the  street,  adds  to  the  racket. 

''  Behind  the  house  is  a  large  park  divided  from 
the  forest  by  a  high  wall ;  a  lawn  and  flower-beds 
are  laid  out  near  the  buildings  ;  and  on  the  lawn,  in 
pleasant  weather,  graze  a  magnificent  bull  and  cow, 
which  are  kept  as  models.  In  a  wire  enclosure  are 
two  chamois  from  the  Pyrenees,  and  further  removed 
from  the  house,  in  the  wooded  part  of  the  park, 
are  inclosures  for  sheep  and  deer,  each  of  which 
knows  its  mistress.  P^ven  the  stag,  bearing  its  six- 
branched  antlers,  receives  her  caresses  like  a  pet 
dog.  At  the  end  of  one  of  the  linden  avenues  is  a 
splendid  bronze,  by  Isadore  Bonheur,  of  a  Gaul 
attacking  a  lion. 

''The  studio  is  very  large,  with  a  huge  chimney 
at  one  end,  the  supports  of  which  are  life-size  dogs, 
modeled  by  Isadore  Bonheur.  Portraits  of  the 
father  and  mother  in  oval  frames  hang  at  each  side, 
and  a  pair  of  gigantic  horns  ornaments  the  centre. 
The  room  is  decorated  with  stuffed  heads  of  animals 
of  various  kinds,  —  boars,  bears,  wolves,  and  oxen  ; 
and  birds  perch  in  every  convenient  place." 

When  Prussia  conquered  France,  and  swept 
through  this  town,  orders  were  given  that  Rosa 
Bonheur's  home  and  paintings  be  carefully  preserved. 
Even  her  servants  went  unmolested.  The  peasants 
idolize  the  great  woman  who  lives  in  the  chateau,  and 
are  eager  to  serve  her.  She  always  talks  to  them 
pleasantly.  She  is  now  sixty-four,  and  her  health 
seems  failing. 


194  ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


ELIZABETH   BARRETT   BROWNING. 

EVER  since  I  had  received  in  my  girlhood,  from 
ray  best  friend,  the  works  of  EHzabetli  Barrett 
BrowniDg,  in  five  volumes  in  blue  and  gold,  I  had 
read  and  re-read  the  pages,  till  I  knew  scores  by 
heart.  I  had  longed  to  see  the  face  and  home  of  her 
whom  the  P^nglish  call  "'  Shakespeare's  daughter," 
and  whom  Edmund  Clarence  Stedmau  names  "the 
passion-flower  of  the  century." 

I  shall  never  forget  that  beautiful  Juh'  morning 
spent  in  the  Browning  home  in  London.  The  poet- 
wife  had  gone  out  from  it,  and  lay  buried  in  Florence, 
but  here  were  her  books  and  her  pictures.  Here 
was  a  marble  bust,  the  hair  clustering  about  the  face, 
and  a  smile  on  the  lips  that  showed  happiness. 
Near  by  was  another  bust  of  the  idolized  only  child, 
of  whom  she  wrote  in  Casa  Gtn'cU  Windows :  — 

"  The  sun  strikes  tlirough  the  windows,  up  the  floor ; 

Stand  out  in  it,  my  own  young  Florentine, 
Not  two  years  old,  and  let  me  see  thee  more ! 

It  grows  along  thy  amber  curls  to  shine 
Brighter  than  elsewhere.     Now  look  straight  before 

And  fix  thy  brave  blue  English  eyes  on  mine, 
And  from  thy  soul,  which  fronts  the  future  so 


Tmn  ^''ioj0 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  195 

With  unabashed  and  unabated  gaze, 
Teach  me  to  hope  for  what  the  Angels  know 
AYhen  they  smile  clear  as  thou  dost ! " 

Here  was  the  breakfast-table  at  which  the}-  three 
had  often  sat  together.  Close  beside  it  hung  a  pic- 
ture of  the  room  in  Florence,  where  she  lived  so 
many  years  in  a  w^edded  bliss  as  perfect  as  any 
known  in  histor}'.  Tears  gathered  in  the  eyes  of 
Robert  Browning,  as  he  pointed  out  her  chair,  and 
sofa,  and  writing-table. 

Of  this  room  in  Casa  Guidi,  Kate  Field  wrote  in  the 
Atlantic  Mont  Jill/,  September,  18G1  :  "They  who  have 
been  so  favored  can  never  forget  the  square  ante- 
room, with  its  great  picture  and  piano-forte,  at  which 
the  boy  Browning  passed  many  an  hour ;  the  little 
dining  room  covered  with  tapestry,  and  where  hung 
medallions  of  Tennyson,  Carlyle,  and  Robert  Brown- 
ing ;  the  long  room  filled  with  plaster  casts  and 
studies,  which  was  Mr.  Browning's  retreat ;  and, 
dearest  of  all,  the  large  drawing-room,  where  she 
always  sat.  It  opens  upon  a  balcony  filled  with 
plants,  and  looks  out  upon  the  old  iron-gray  church 
of  Santa  Felice.  There  was  something  about  this 
room  that  seemed  to  make  it  a  proper  and  especial 
haunt  for  poets.  The  dark  shadows  and  subdued 
light  gave  it  a  dreamy  look,  which  was  enhanced  by 
the  tapestry-covered  w^alls,  and  the  old  pictures  of 
saints  that  looked  out  sadly  from  their  carved  frames 
of  black  w^ood.  Large  bookcases,  constructed  of 
specimens  of  Florentine  carving   selected   by   Mr. 


196  ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

Browning,  were  brimming  over  with  wise-looking 
books.  Tables  were  covered  with  more  gayly  bound 
volumes,  the  gifts  of  brother  authors.  Dante's  grave 
profile,  a  cast  of  Keats'  face  and  brow  taken  after 
death,  a  pen-and-ink  sketch  of  Tenn3^sou,  the  genial 
face  of  John  Kenyon,  Mrs.  Browning's  good  friend 
and  relative,  little  paintings  of  the  boy  Browning, 
all  attracted  the  eye  in  turn,  and  gave  rise  to  a  thou- 
sand musings.  But  the  glory  of  all,  and  that  which 
sanctified  all,  was  seated  in  a  low  armchair  near  the 
door.  A  small  table,  strewn  with  writing  materials, 
books  and  newspapers,  was  always  by  her  side." 

Then  Mr.  Browning,  in  the  London  home,  showed 
us  the  room  where  he  writes,  containing  his  library 
and  hers.  The  books  are  on  simple  shelves,  choice, 
and  many  very  old  and  rare.  Here  are  her  books, 
many  in  Greek  and  Hebrew.  In  the  Greek,  I  saw 
her  notes  on  the  margin  in  Hebrew,  and  in  the 
Hebrew  she  had  written  her  marginal  notes  in 
Greek.  Here  also  are  the  five  volumes  of  her  writ- 
ings, in  blue  and  gold. 

The  small  table  at  which  she  wrote  still  stands 
beside  the  larger  where  her  husband  composes.  His 
table  is  covered  with  letters  and  papers  and  books  ; 
hers  stands  there  unused,  because  it  is  a  constant 
reminder  of  those  companionable  years,  when  they 
worked  together.  Close  by  hangs  a  picture  of  the 
"young  Florentine,"  Robert  Barrett  Browning,  now 
grown  to  manhood,  an  artist  already  famed.  He 
has  a  refined  face,  as  he  sits  in  artist  garb,  before 
his  easel,  sketching  in  a  peasant's  house. 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  197 

The  beloved  poet  who  wrote  at  the  little  table,  is 
endeared  to  all  the  world.  Born  in  1809,  in  the 
county  of  Durham,  the  daughter  of  wealthy  parents, 
she  passed  her  early  years  partly  in  the  country  in 
Herefordshire,  and  partly  in  the  city.  That  she 
loved  the  countrj'  with  its  wild  flowers  and  woods, 
her  poem.  The  Lost  Boicer,  plainly  shows. 

"  Green  the  hmd  is  where  my  daily 
Steps  in  jocund  childhood  played. 
Dimpled  close  with  hill  and  valley, 

Dappled  very  close  with  shade; 
Summer-snow  of  apple-blossoms  running  up  from 
glade  to  glade. 
****** 
"But  the  wood,  all  close  and  clenching 
Bough  in  bough  and  root  in  root,  — 
No  more  sky  (for  overbranching) 

At  your  head  than  at  your  foot,  — 
Oh,  the  wood  drew  me  within  it,  by  a  glamour  past 
dispute. 

"  But  my  childish  heart  beat  stronger 
Than  those  thickets  dared  to  grow  : 
/  could  pierce  them!     /  could  longer 

Travel  on,  methought,  than  so. 
Sheep  for  sheep-paths  !  braver  children  climb  and 
creep  where  they  would  go. 
****** 
"  Tall  the  linden-tree,  and  near  it 
An  old  hawthorne  also  grew ; 
And  wood-ivy  like  a  spirit 

Hovered  dimly  round  the  two. 
Shaping  thence  that  bower  of  beauty  which  I  sing 
of  thus  to  you. 


198  ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

"  And  tlie  ivy  veined  and  glossy 
Was  enwrought  with  eglantine ; 
And  the  wild  hop  fibred  closely, 

And  the  large-leaved  columbine. 
Arch  of  door  and  window  mullion,  did  right  syl- 
vanly  entwine. 
****** 
"  I  have  lost  —  oh,  many  a  i)leasure, 
Many  a  hoj^e,  and  many  a  power  — 
Studious  health,  and  merry  leisure. 
The  first  dew  on  the  first  flower ! 
But  the  first  of  all  my  losses  was  the  losing  of  the 
bower. 

"  Is  tlie  bower  lost  then  ?     Who  sayeth 
That  the  bower  indeed  is  lost  ? 
Hark  !  my  spirit  in  it  prayeth 

Through  the  sunshine  and  the  frost,  — 
And  tlie  prayer  preserves  it  greenly,  to  the  last 
and  uttermost. 

"  Till  another  open  for  me 

In  God's  Eden-land  unknown, 
With  an  angel  at  the  doorway, 

White  with  gazing  at  His  throne, 
And  a  saint's  voice  in  the  palm-trees,  singing,  *  All 
is  lost  .  .  .  and  icon  ! '  " 

Elizabeth  Barrett  wrote  poems  at  ten,  and  when 
seventeen,  published  ^n  Essay  on  Mind.,  and  Other 
Poems.  The  essa}'  was  after  the  manner  of  Pope, 
and  though  showing  good  knowledge  of  Plato  and 
Bacon,  did  not  find  favor  with  the  critics.  It  was 
dedicated  to  her  father,  who  was  proud  of  a  daugh- 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWXING.  199 

ter  who  preferred  Latin  and  Greek  to  the  novels  of 
the  da}'. 

Her  teacher  was  the  blind  Hugh  Stuart  Boyd, 
whom  she  praises  in  her  Wine  of  Cyprus, 

"  Then,  what  gohlen  hours  were  for  us  !  — 
AVhile  we  sate  together  there ; 

****** 
"  Oh,  our  iEschylus,  the  thunderous  ! 
IIow  he  drove  the  bohed  breath 
Through  the  cloud  to  wedge  it  ponderous 

In  tlie  gnarled  oak  beneath. 
Oh,  our  Sophocles,  the  royal. 

Who  was  born  to  monarch's  place, 

And  who  made  the  whole  world  loyal. 

Less  by  kingly  power  than  grace. 

"Our  Euripides,  the  human, 

With  his  droppings  of  warm  tears. 
And  his  touches  of  things  common 

Till  they  rose  to  touch  the  spheres  ! 
Our  Theocritus,  our  Bion, 

And  our  Pindar's  shining  goals  !  — 
These  were  cup-bearers  undying. 

Of  the  wine  that's  meant  for  souls." 

More  fond  of  books  than  of  social  life,  she  was 
laying  the  necessary  foundation  for  a  noble  fame. 
The  lives  of  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning,  George 
Eliot,  and  Margaret  Fuller,  emphasize  the  necessity 
of  almost  unlimited  knowledge,  if  woman  would 
reach  lasting  fame.  A  great  man  or  woman  of  let- 
ters, without  great  scholarship,  is  well-nigh  an  im- 
possible thing. 


200  ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

Nine  years  after  her  first  book,  Prometheus 
Bound  and  Miscellaneous  Poems  was  published  in 
1835.  She  was  now  twenty-six.  A  translation 
from  the  Greek  of  ^Eschylus  by  a  woman  caused 
much  comment,  but  like  the  first  book  it  received 
severe  criticism.  Several  years  afterward,  when 
she  brought  her  collected  poems  before  the  world, 
she  wrote  :  "  One  early  failure,  a  translation  of  the 
Prometheus  of  ^PJschylus,  which,  though  happily 
free  of  the  current  of  publication,  may  be  remem- 
bered against  me  by  a  few  of  my  personal  friends,  I 
have  replaced  here  by  an  entireh'  new  version,  made 
for  them  and  my  conscience,  in  expiation  of  a  sin  of 
my  youth,  with  the  sincerest  application  of  my 
mature  mind."  "This  latter  version,"  says  Mr. 
Stedman,  '•  of  a  most  sublime  tragedy  is  more  poeti- 
cal than  an}'  other  of  equal  correctness,  and  has  the 
fire  and  vigor  of  a  master-hand.  No  one  has  suc- 
ceeded better  than  its  author  in  capturing  with 
rhymed  measures  the  wilful  rushing  melody  of  the 
tragic  chorus." 

In  1835  Miss  Barrett  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Mary  Russell  Mitford,  and  a  life-long  friendship  re- 
sulted. Miss  Mitford  says:  "She  was  certainly 
one  of  the  most  interesting  persons  I  had  ever  seen. 
Everybody  who  then  saw  her  said  the  same.  Of  a 
slight,  delicate  figure,  with  a  shower  of  dark  curls 
falling  on  either  side  of  a  most  expressive  face, 
large  tender  eyes,  richly  fringed  by  dark  eyelashes, 
a  smile  like  a  sunbeam,  and  such  a  look  of  youthful- 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWXING.  201 

ness,  that  1  had  some  difficult}^  in  persuading  a 
friend,  in  whose  carriage  we  went  together  to  Ches- 
wick,  that  the  translatress  of  the  Prometheus  of 
^schylus,  the  authoress  of  the  Essay  on  Mind,  was 
old  enough  to  be  introduced  into  company,  in  tech- 
nical h^nguage,  was  out.  We  met  so  constantly 
and  so  familiarly  that,  in  spite  of  the  difference  of 
age,  intimacy  ripened  into  friendship,  and  after  m}' 
return  into  the  country,  we  corresponded  freeh'  and 
frequently,  her  letters  being  just  what  letters  ought 
to  be, — her  own  talk  put  upon  paper." 

The  next  3'ear  Miss  Barrett,  never  robust,  broke 
a  blood-vessel  in  the  lungs.  For  a  year  she  was 
ill,  and  then  with  her  eldest  and  favorite  brother, 
was  carried  to  Torqua}-  to  try  the  effect  of  a  warmer 
climate.  After  a  year  spent  here,  she  greatl}^  im- 
proved, and  seemed  likely  to  recover  her  usual 
health. 

One  beautiful  summer  morning  she  went  on  the 
balcony  to  watch  her  brother  and  two  other  young 
men  who  had  srone  out  for  a  sail.  Havino-  had 
much  experience,  and  understanding  the  coast,  they 
allowed  the  boatman  to  retui-n  to  land.  Only  a  few 
minutes  out,  and  in  plain  sight,  as  they  were  cross- 
ing the  bar,  the  boat  went  down,  and  the  three 
friends  perished.  Their  bodies  even  were  never 
recovered. 

The  whole  town  was  in  mourning.  Posters  were 
put  upon  every  cliff  and  public  place,  offering  large 
rewards  '•  for  linen  cast  ashore  marked  with  the  ini- 


202  ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING, 

tials  of  tlie  beloved  dead  ;  for  it  so  chanced  that  all 
the  three  were  of  the  dearest  and  the  best :  one,  an 
only  son  ;  the  other,  the  son  of  a  widow"  ;  but  the 
sea  was  forever  silent. 

The  sister,  w^ho  had  seen  her  brother  sink  before 
her  eyes,  was  utterly  prostrated.  She  blamed  her- 
self for  his  death,  because  he  came  to  Torquay 
for  her  comfort.  All  winter  long  she  heard  the 
sound  of  waves  ringing  in  her  ears  like  the  moans 
of  the  dying.  From  this  time  forward  she  never 
mentioned  her  brother's  name,  and  later,  exacted 
from  Mr.  Browning  a  promise  that  the  subject 
should  never  be  broached  between  them. 

The  following  year  she  was  removed  to  London  in 
an  invalid  carriage,  journeying  twenty  miles  a  day. 
And  then  for  seven  years,  in  a  large  darkened  room, 
lying  much  of  the  time  upon  her  couch,  and  seeing 
only  a  few  most  intimate  friends,  the  frail  woman 
lived  and  wrote.  Books  more  than  ever  became  her 
solace  and  joy.  Miss  Mitford  says,  "  She  read 
almost  every  book  worth  reading,  in  almost  every 
language,  and  gave  herself  heart  and  soul  to  that 
poetry  of  which  she  seem  born  to  be  the  priestess." 
When  Dr.  Barry  urged  that  she  read  light  books, 
she  had  a  small  edition  of  Plato  bound  so  as  to  re- 
semble a  novel,  and  the  good  man  was  satisfied. 
She  understood  her  own  needs  better  than  he. 

When  she  was  twenty-nine,  she  published  The 
Seraphim  and  Other  Poems.  The  Seraphim  was  a 
reverential  description  of  two  angels  watching  the 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  203 

Crucifixion.  Though  the  critics  saw  much  that  was 
strikingly  original,  they  condemned  the  frequent  ob- 
scurity of  meaning  and  irregularity  of  rhyme.  The 
next  year,  The  Romaunt  of  the  Page  and  other  bal- 
lads appeared,  and  in  1844,  when  she  was  thirty- 
five,  a  complete  edition  of  her  poems,  opening  with 
the  Drama  of  Exile.  This  was  the  expulsion  of 
Adam  and  Eve  from  Eden,  the  first  scene  represent- 
ing "the  outer  side  of  the  gate  of  Eden  shut  fast 
with  cloud,  from  the  depth  of  which  revolves  a 
sword  of  fire  self-moved.  Adam  and  Eve  are  seen 
in  the  distance  flying  along  the  glare." 

In  one  of  her  prefaces  she  said:  "Poetry  has 
been  to  me  as  serious  a  thing  as  life  itself,  —  and 
life  has  been  a  very  serious  thing ;  there  has  been 
no  playing  at  skittles  for  me  in  either.  I  never 
mistook  pleasure  for  the  final  cause  of  poetry,  nor 
leisure  for  the  hour  of  the  poet.  I  have  done  my 
work,  so  far,  as  work,  —  not  as  mere  hand  and 
head  work,  apart  from  the  personal  being,  but  as 
the  completest  expression  of  that  being  to  which  I 
could  attain,  — and  as  work  I  offer  it  to  the  public, 
feeling  its  shortcomings  more  deeply  than  any  of 
my  readers,  because  measured  from  the  height  of 
my  aspiration  ;  but  feeling  also  that  the  reverence 
and  sincerity  with  which  tlie  work  was  done  should 
give  it  some  protection  from  the  reverent  and  sin- 
cere." 

While  the  Drama  of  Exile  received  some  adverse 
criticisin,  the  shorter  poems  became  the  delio-ht  of 


204  ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

thousands.     Who  has  not  held  his  breath  in  reading 
the  Rhyme  of  the  Duchess  May?  — 

"  And  her  head  was  on  his  breast,  where  she  smiled  as  one  at 
rest, — 

Toll  sloicly. 
'  Ring/  slie   cried,  '  0  vesper-bell,  in   the   beech-wood's   old 
chapelle ! ' 
But  the  passing-bell  rings  best ! 

"They  have  caught  out  at  the  rein,  which  Sir  Guy  threw 

loose  —  in  vain, — 

Toll  si  Old  I/. 
For  the  horse  in  stark  despair,  with  his  front  hoofs  poised  in 

air, 
On  the  last  verge  rears  amain. 

"Now  he  hangs,  he  rocks  between,  and  his  nostrils  curdle 
in!  — 

Toll  slowly. 
Now  he  shivers  head  and  hoof,  and  the  flakes  of  foam  fall 
off. 
And  his  face  grows  fierce  and  thin ! 

"  And  a  look  of  human  woe  from  his  staring  eyes  did  go, 

Toll  si  Old  I/. 
And  a  sharp  cry  uttered  he,  in  a  foretold  agony  of  the  head- 
long death  below." 

^Vho  can  ever  forget  that  immortal  Cry  of  the 
Children,  which  awoke  all  England  to  the  horrors  of 
child-labor?  That,  and  Hood's  Song  of  the  Shirt, 
will  never  die. 

Who  has  not  read  and  loved  one  of  the  most  ten- 
der poems  in  an}-  language,  Bertha  in  the  Lane?  — 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  205 

*'  Yes,  and  He  too !  let  him  stand 

In  thy  thoughts,  untouched  by  blame. 
Could  he  lielp  it,  if  my  hand 

He  had  claimed  with  hasty  claim? 
That  was  wrong  perhaps  —  but  then 
Such  things  be  —  and  will,  again. 
Women  cannot  judge  for  men. 
****** 

"  And,  dear  Bertha,  let  me  keep 
On  this  hand  this  little  ring, 
AVhich  at  night,  when  others  sleep, 
I  can  still  see  glittering. 
Let  me  wear  it  out  of  sight. 
In  the  grave,  —  where  it  will  light 
All  the  Dark  up,  day  and  night." 

No  woman  has  ever  understood  better  the  fulness 
of  love,  or  described  it  more  purely  and  exquisitely. 

One  person  among  the  many  who  had  read  Miss 
Barrett's  poems,  felt  their  genius,  because  he  had 
genius  in  his  own  soul,  and  that  person  was  Robert 
Browning.  That  she  admired  his  poetic  work  was 
shown  in  Lady  Geraldine's  Courtsliip^  when  Bertram 
reads  to  his  lady-love  :  — 

"  Or  at  times   a  modern   volume,  —  Wordsworth's    solemn- 

thoughted  idyl, 
Howitt's  ballad  verse,  or  Tennyson's  enchanted  reverie, 
Or  from  Browning  some  Pomegranate,  which,  if  cut  deep  down 

the  middle, 
Shows  a  heart  within  blood-tinctured,  of  a  veined  humanity." 

Mr.  Browning  determined  to  meet  the  unknown 
singer.  Years  later  he  told  the  story  to  Elizabeth 
C.  Kinney,  when  she  had  gone  with  the  happy  hus- 


206  ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

band  and  wife  on  a  day's  excursion  from  Florence. 
She  says  :  "  Finding  that  the  invalid  did  not  receive 
strangers,  he  wrote  her  a  letter,  intense  with  his  de- 
sire to  see  her.  She  reluctantly  consented  to  an 
interview.  He  flew  to  her  apartment,  was  admitted 
by  the  nurse,  in  whose  presence  onh'  could  he  see 
the  deity  at  whose  shrine  he  had  long  worshipped. 
But  the  golden  opportunity  was  not  to  be  lost ;  love 
became  oblivious  to  any  save  the  presence  of  the 
real  of  its  ideal.  Then  and  there  Robert  Browning 
poured  his  impassioned  soul  into  hers  ;  though  his 
tale  of  love  seemed  only  an  enthusiast's  dream. 
Infirmity  had  hitherto  so  hedged  her  about,  that  she 
deemed  herself  forever  protected  from  all  assaults 
of  love.  Indeed,  she  felt  only  injured  that  a  fellow- 
poet  should  take  advantage,  as  it  were,  of  her  in- 
dulgence in  granting  him  an  mterview,  and  requested 
him  to  withdraw  from  her  presence,  not  attempting 
any  response  to  his  proposal,  which  she  could  not 
believe  in  earnest.  Of  course,  he  withdrew  from 
her  sight,  but  not  to  withdraw  the  offer  of  his  heart 
and  hand ;  on  the  contrary,  to  repeat  it  by  letter, 
and  in  such  Avise  as  to  convince  her  how  '  dead  in 
earnest'  he  was.  Her  own  heart,  touched  already 
when  she  knew  it  not,  was  this  time  fain  to  listen, 
be  convinced,  and  overcome. 

"  As  a  filial  daughter,  Elizabeth  told  her  father 
of  the  poet's  love,  and  of  the  poet's  love  in  return, 
and  asked  a  parent's  blessing  to  crown  their  happi- 
ness.    At  first  he  was  incredulous   of  the  strange 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  207 

story ;  but  when  the  truth  flashed  on  him  from  the 
new  fire  in  her  eyes,  he  kindled  with  rage,  and  for- 
bade her  ever  seeing  or  communicating  wnth  her  lover 
again,  on  the  penalty  of  disinheritance  and  ban- 
ishment forever  from  a  father's  love.  This  decision 
was  founded  on  no  dislike  for  Mr.  Browning  person- 
ally, or  anything  in  him  or  his  family  ;  it  was  simply 
arbitrary.  But  the  new  love  was  stronger  than  the 
old  in  her,  —  it  conquered."  Mr.  Barrett  never 
forgave  his  daughter,  and  died  unreconciled,  which 
to  her  was  a  great  grief. 

In  1846  Elizabeth  Barrett  arose  from  her  sick-bed 
to  marry  the  man  of  her  choice,  who  took  her  at 
once  to  Italy,  where  she  spent  fifteen  happy  years. 
At  once,  love  seemed  to  infuse  new  life  into  the 
delicate  body  and  renew  the  saddened  heart.  She 
was  thirty-seven.  She  had  wisely  waited  till  she 
found  a  person  of  congenial  tastes  and  kindred  pur- 
suits. Had  she  married  earher,  it  is  possible  that 
the  cares  of  life  might  have  deprived  the  world  of 
some  of  her  noblest  works. 

The  marriage  was  an  ideal  one.  Both  had  a  grand 
purpose  in  life.  Neither  individual  was  merged  in 
the  other.  George  S.  Hillard,  in  his  Six  Months  in 
Italy ^  when  he  visited  the  Brownings  the  year  after 
their  marriage,  says,  "  A  happier  home  and  a  more 
perfect  union  than  theirs  it  is  not  easy  to  imagine ; 
and  this  completeness  arises  not  only  from  the  rare 
qualities  which  each  possesses,  but  from  their  perfect 
adaptation  to  each  other.   .   .   .      Nor  is  she  moro 


208  ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

remarkable  for  genius  and  learning,  than  for  sweet- 
ness of  temper  and  purit}^  of  spirit.  It  is  a  privilege 
to  know  such  beings  singly  and  separately',  but  to 
see  their  powers  quickened,  and  their  happiness 
rounded,  by  the  sacred  tie  of  marriage,  is  a  cause 
for  peculiar  and  lasting  gratitude.  A  union  so  com- 
plete as  theirs  —  in  which  the  mind  has  nothing  to 
crave  nor  the  heart  to  sigh  for  —  is  cordial  to  behold 
and  soothing  to  remember." 

"Mr.  Browning,"  says  one  who  knew  him  well, 
"did  not  fear  to  speak  of  his  wife's  genius,  which 
he  did  almost  with  awe,  losing  himself  so  entirely  in 
her  glory  that  one  could  see  that  he  did  not  feel 
worthy  to  unloose  her  shoe-latchet,  much  less  to  call 
her  his  own." 

AYhen  mothers  teach  their  daughters  to  cultivate 
their  minds  as  did  Mrs.  Browning,  as  well  as  to 
emulate  her  sweetness  of  temper,  then  will  men  ven- 
erate women  for  both  mental  and  moral  power.  A 
love  that  has  reverence  for  its  foundation  knows  no 
change. 

"  Mrs.  Browning's  conversation  was  most  inter- 
esting. She  never  made  an  insignificant  remark. 
All  that  she  said  was  always  worth  hearing ;  a 
greater  compliment  could  not  be  paid  her.  She  was 
a  most  conscientious  listener,  giving  you  her  mind 
and  heart,  as  well  as  her  magnetic  eyes.  Persons 
were  never  her  theme,  unless  public  characters  were 
under  discussion,  or  friends  were  to  be  praised.  One 
never  dreamed    of    frivolities    in    Mrs.    Browning's 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  209 

presence,  and  gossip  felt  itself  out  of  place.  Your- 
self, not  herself,  was  alwa3S  a  pleasant  subject  to 
her,  calling  out  all  her  best  sympathies  in  joy,  and 
yet  more  in  sorrow.  Books  and  humanity,  great 
deeds,  and  above  all,  politics,  which  include  all  the 
grand  questions  of  the  day,  were  foremost  in  her 
thoughts,  and  therefore  oftenest  on  her  lips.  I 
speak  not  of  religion,  for  with  her  everything  was 
religion. 

"  Thoughtful  in  the  smallest  things  for  others,  she 
seemed  to  give  little  thought  to  herself.  The  first  to 
see  merit,  she  was  the  last  to  censure  faults,  and 
gave  the  praise  that  she  felt  with  a  generous  hand. 
No  one  so  heartily  rejoiced  at  the  success  of  others, 
no  one  was  so  modest  in  her  own  triumphs.  She 
loved  all  who  offered  her  affection,  and  would  solace 
and  advise  with  any.  Mrs.  Browning  belonged  to 
no  particular  country  ;  the  world  was  inscribed  upon 
the  banner  under  which  she  fought.  Wrong  was  her 
enemy  ;  against  this  she  wrestled,  in  whatever  part  of 
the  globe  it  was  to  be  found." 

Three  years  after  her  marriage  her  only  son  was 
born.  The  Italians  ever  after  called  her  "  the 
mother  of  the  beautiful  child."  And  now  some  of 
her  ablest  and  strongest  work  was  done.  Her  Casa 
Giddi  Windows  appeared  in  1851.  It  is  the  story 
of  the  struggle  for  Italian  liberty.  In  the  same  vol- 
ume were  published  the  Portuguese  Sonnets,  really 
her  own  love-life.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  any- 
thing more  beautiful  than  these. 


210  ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWXIXG. 

"  First  time  he  kissed  me  he  but  only  kissed 
The  fingers  of  this  hand  wherewith  I  write, 
And  ever  since,  it  grew  more  clean  and  white, 
Slow  to  world-greetings,  quick  with  its  *  Oh,  list,' 
When  the  angels  speak.     A  ring  of  amethyst 
I  could  not  wear  here,  plainer  to  my  sight, 
Than  that  first  kiss.     The  second  passed  in  height 
The  first,  and  sought  the  forehead,  and  half-missed. 
Half  falling  on  the  hair.     O  beyond  meed  ! 
That  was  the  chrism  of  love,  which  love's  own  crown 
With  sanctifying  sweetness,  did  precede. 
The  third  upon  my  lips  was  folded  down 
In  perfect,  purple  state;  since  when,  indeed, 
I  have  been  proud  and  said,  '  My  love,  my  own ! ' 
******* 

How  do  I  love  thee  ?     Let  me  count  the  ways, 

I  love  thee  to  the  depth  and  breadth  and  height 

My  soul  can  reach,  when  feeling  out  of  sight 

For  the  ends  of  being  and  ideal  Grace. 

I  love  thee  to  the  level  of  every  day's 

Most  quiet  need,  by  sun  and  candle  light. 

I  love  thee  freely,  as  men  strive  for  Right, 

I  love  thee  purely,  as  they  turn  from  Praise. 

1  love  thee  with  the  passion  put  to  use 

In  my  old  griefs,  and  with  my  childhood's  faith. 

I  love  thee  with  a  love  I  seemed  to  lose 

With  my  lost  saints  —  I  love  thee  with  the  breath. 

Smiles,  tears  of  all  my  life  !  —  and,  if  God  choose, 

I  shall  but  love  thee  better  after  death." 

Mrs.  Browning's  next  great  poem,  in  1856,  was 
Aurora  LeigJi,  a  novel  in  blank  verse,  "the  most 
mature,"  she  says  in  the  preface,  "of  my  w^orks, 
and  the  one  into  which  my  highest  conxictions  upon 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  211 

Life  and  Art  have  entered."  Walter  Savage  Landor 
said  of  it :  "  In  manj'  pages  there  is  the  wild  imagi- 
nation of  Shakespeare.  I  had  no  idea  that  any  one 
in  this  age  was  capable  of  such  poetry." 

For  fifteen  years  this  happy  wedded  life,  with  its 
work  of  brain  and  hand,  had  been  lived,  and  now 
the  bond  was  to  be  severed.  In  June,  1861,  Mrs. 
Browning  took  a  severe  cold,  and  was  ill  for  nearly 
a  week.  No  one  thought  of  danger,  though  Mr. 
Browning  would  not  leave  her  bedside.  On  the 
night  of  June  29,  toward  morning,  she  seemed  to 
be  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy.  She  told  her  husband  of 
her  love  for  him,  gave  him  her  blessing,  and  raised 
herself  to  die  in  his  arms.  "  It  is  beautiful,"  were  her 
last  words  as  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  some  heavenly 
vision.  On  the  evening  of  July  1,  she  was  buried 
in  the  English  cemetery,  in  the  midst  of  sobbing 
friends,  for  who  could  carry  out  that  request?  — 

"  And  friends,  dear  friends,  when  it  shall  be 
That  this  low  breath  is  gone  from  me, 

And  romid  my  bier  ye  come  to  weep, 
Let  one  most  loving  of  you  all 
Say,  '  Not  a  tear  must  o'er  her  fall,  — 

He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep  ! ' " 

The  Italians,  who  loved  her,  placed  on  the  door- 
way of  Casa  Guidi  a  white  marble  tablet,  with  the 
words  :  — 

''Here  wrote  and  died  E.  B.  Browning,  icho,  in 
the  heart  of  a  woman ^  united  the  science  of  a 


212  ELTZABETH  BARRETT  BROWyiXG. 

and  the  spirit  of  a  poet  ^  and  made  v:ith  her  verse  a 
golden  ring  binding  Italy  and  England. 

"  Grateful  Florence  placed  this  memoricd^  1861." 

For  twenty-five  years  Robert  Browning  and  his 
artist-son  have  clone  their  work,  blessed  with  the 
memory  of  her  whom  Mr.  Stedman  calls  "  the  most 
inspired  woman,  so  far  as  known,  of  all  who  have 
composed  in  ancient  or  modern  tongues,  or  flour- 
ished iu  any  land  or  time." 


GEORGE   ELIOT, 


GEORGE  ELIOT,  213 


GEORGE   ELIOT. 

GOING  to  the  Exposition  at  New  Orleans, 
I  took  for  reading  on  the  journey,  the 
life  of  George  Eliot,  by  her  husband,  Mr.  J.  W. 
Cross,  written  with  great  delicacy  and  beauty.  An 
accident  delayed  us,  so  that  for  three  days  I  enjoyed 
this  insight  into  a  wonderful  life.  I  copied  the 
amazing  list  of  books  she  had  read,  and  transferred 
to  my  note-book  many  of  her  beautiful  thoughts. 
To-day  I  have  been  reading  the  book  again  ;  a  clear, 
vivid  picture  of  a  very  great  woman,  whose  works, 
says  the  Spectator^  "  are  the  best  specimens  of 
powerful,  simple  English,  since  Shakespeare." 

AVhat  made  her  a  superior  woman?  Not  wealthy 
parentage  ;  not  congenial  surroundings.  She  had  a 
generous,  sympathetic  heart  for  a  foundation,  and 
on  this  she  built  a  scholarship  that  even  few  men  can 
equal.  She  loved  science,  and  philosophy,  and  lan- 
guage, and  mathematics,  and  grew  broad  enough  to 
discuss  great  questions  and  think  great  thoughts. 
And  yet  she  was  affectionate,  tender,  and  gentle. 

Mary  Ann  Evans  was  born  Nov.  22,  1819,  at 
Arbury  Farm,  a  mile  from  Griff,  in  Warwickshire, 
England.     When  four  months  old  the  family  moved 


2U  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

to  Griff,  where  the  girl  lived  till  she  was  twenty-one, 
in  a  two-story,  old-fashioned,  red  brick  house,  the 
walls  covered  with  ivy.  Two  Norway  firs  and  an 
old  yew-tree  shaded  the  lawn.  The  father,  Robert 
Evans,  a  man  of  intelligence  and  good  sense,  was 
bred  a  builder  and  carpenter,  afterward  becoming  a 
land-agent  for  one  of  the  large  estates.  The  mother 
was  a  woman  of  sterling  character,  practical  and 
capable. 

For  the  three  children,  Christiana,  Isaac,  and 
Mary  Ann,  there  was  little  variety  in  the  common- 
place life  at  Griff.  Twice  a  day  the  coach  from 
Birmingham  to  Stamford  passed  by  the  house,  and 
the  coachman  and  guard  in  scarlet  were  a  great 
diversion.  She  thus  describes  the  locality  in  Felix 
Holt:  "Here  were  powerful  men  walking  queerly, 
with  knees  bent  outward  from  squatting  in  the  mine, 
going  home  to  throw  themselves  down  in  their  black- 
ened flannel,  and  sleep  through  the  daylight,  then 
rise  and  spend  much  of  their  high  wages  at  the  ale- 
house with  their  fellows  of  the  Benefit  Club  ;  here 
the  pale,  eager  faces  of  handloom  weavers,  men  and 
women,  haggard  from  sitting  up  late  at  night  to 
finish  the  week's  work,  hardly  begun  till  the  Wednes- 
day. Everywhere  the  cottages  and  the  small  chil- 
dren were  dirty,  for  the  languid  mothers  gave  their 
strength  to  the  loom." 

Mary  Ann  was  an  affectionate,  sensitive  child, 
fond,  of  out-door  sports,  imitating  everything  she 
saw  her  brother  do,  and  early  in  life  feeling  in  her 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  215 

heart  that  she  was  to  be  "  somebody."  When  but 
four  3'ears  old,  she  would  seat  herself  at  the  piano 
and  play,  though  she  did  not  know  one  note  from 
another,  that  the  servant  might  see  that  she  was  a 
distinguished  person  !  Her  life  was  a  happy  one,  as 
is  shown  in  her  Brother  and  Sister  Sonnet:  — 

"  But  were  another  childhood's  world  my  share, 
1  would  be  born  a  little  sister  there." 

At  five,  the  mother  being  in  poor  health,  the  child 
was  sent  to  a  boarding-school  with  her  sister, 
Chrissy,  where  she  remained  three  or  four  years. 
The  older  scholars  petted  her,  calling  her  "little 
mamma."  At  eight  she  went  to  a  larger  school,  at 
Nuneaton,  where  one  of  the  teachers.  Miss  Lewis, 
became  her  life-long  friend.  The  child  had  the 
greatest  fondness  for  reading,  her  first  book,  a  Lin- 
net's  Life^  being  tenderly  cared  for  all  lier  days, 
^sop's  Fables  were  read  and  re-read.  At  this  time 
a  neighbor  had  loaned  one  of  the  Waverley  novels 
to  the  older  sister,  who  returned  it  before  Mary  Ann 
had  finished  it.  Distressed  at  this  break  in  the 
story,  she  began  to  write  out  as  nearly  as  she  could 
remember,  the  whole  volume  for  herself.  Her 
amazed  family  re-borrowed  the  book,  and  the  child 
was  happy.  The  mother  sometimes  protested  against 
the  use  of  so  many  candles  for  night  reading,  and 
rightly  feared  that  her  eyes  would  be  spoiled. 

At  the  next  school,  at  Coventry,  Mary  Ann  so 
surpassed  her  comrades  that  they  stood  in  awe  of 


216  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

her,  but  managed  to  overcome  this  when  a  basket  of 
dainties  came  in  from  the  country  home.  In  1836 
the  excellent  mother  died.  Mary  Ann  wrote  to  a 
friend  in  after  life,  "  I  began  at  sixteen  to  be  ac- 
quainted with  the  unspeakable  grief  of  a  last  parting, 
in  the  death  of  my  mother."  In  the  following  spring 
Chrissy  was  married,  and  after  a  good  cr}'  with  her 
brother  over  this  breaking  up  of  the  home  circle, 
Mar}^  Ann  took  upon  herself  the  household  duties, 
and  became  the  care-taker  instead  of  the  school-girl. 
Although  so  young  she  took  a  leading  part  in  the 
benevolent  work  of  the  neighborhood. 

Her  love  for  books  increased.  She  engaged  a 
well-known  teacher  to  come  from  Coventry  and  give 
her  lessons  in  French,  German,  and  Italian,  while 
another  helped  her  in  music,  of  which  she  was  pas- 
sionately fond.  Later,  she  studied  Greek,  Latin, 
Spanish,  and  Hebrew.  Shut  up  in  the  farm-house, 
hungering  for  knowledge,  she  applied  herself  with  a 
persistency  and  earnestness  that  bj'-and-b}'  were  to 
bear  their  legitimate  fruit.  That  she  felt  the  priva- 
tion of  a  collegiate  course  is  undoubted.  She  says 
in  Daniel  Deronda:  "You  may  tr}^,  but  3'ou  can 
never  imagine  what  it  is  to  have  a  man's  force  of 
genius  in  you,  and  yet  to  suffer  the  slavery  of  being 
a  girl." 

She  did  not  neglect  her  household  duties.  One 
of  her  hands,  which  were  noticeable  for  their  beauty 
of  shape,  was  broader  than  the  other,  which,  she 
used  to  sa}'  with  some  pride,  was  owing  to  the  butter 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  217 

and  cheese  she  had  made.  At  twenty  she  was  read- 
ing the  Life  of  Wilberforce,  Josephus'  History  of  the 
Jews,  Spenser's  Faery  Queen,  Don  Quixote,  Milton, 
Bacon,  Mrs.  Somerville's  Connection  of  the  Physical 
Sciences,  and  Wordsworth.  The  hitter  was  ahvays 
an  especial  favorite,  and  his  life,  by  Frederick  Myers 
in  the  Men  of  Letters  series,  was  one  of  the  last 
books  she  ever  read. 

Already  she  was  learning  the  illimitableuess  of 
knowledge.  "  For  my  part,"  she  says,  *•  I  am  read}' 
to  sit  down  and  weep  at  the  impossibility  of  my  un- 
derstanding or  barely  knowing  a  fraction  of  the  sum 
of  objects  that  present  themselves  for  our  contem- 
plation in  books  and  in  life." 

About  this  time  Mr.  Evans  left  the  farm,  and 
moved  to  Foleshill,  near  Coventry.  The  poor  peo- 
ple at  Grift' were  very  sorry,  and  said,  "We  shall 
never  have  another  Mary  Ann  Evans."  Marian, 
as  she  was  now  called,  found  at  Foleshill  a  few  in- 
tellectual and  companionable  fi-iends,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bray,  both  authors,  and  Miss  Hennell,  their  sister. 

Through  the  influence  of  these  friends  she  gave 
up  some  of  her  evangelical  views,  but  she  never 
ceased  to  be  a  devoted  student  and  lover  of  the 
Bible.  She  was  happy  in  her  communing  with  na- 
ture. "Delicious  autumn,"  she  said.  "My  very 
soul  is  wedded  to  it,  and  if  I  were  a  bird,  I  would 
(ly  about  the  earth,  seeking  the  successive  autumns. 
...  I  have  been  revelling  in  Nichol's  Architecture 
of  the  Heavens  and  Phenomena  of  the  Solar  System, 


218  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

and  have  been  in  imagination  winging  ni}'  flight 
from  system  to  s^^stem,  from  universe  to  universe." 

In  1844,  when  Miss  Evans  was  twenty-five  years 
old,  she  began  the  translation  of  Strauss'  Life  of 
Jesus.  The  lady  who  was  to  marry  Miss  Hennell's 
brother  had  partially  done  the  work,  and  asked  Miss 
Evans  to  finish  it.  For  nearh^  three  years  she  gave 
it  all  the  time  at  her  command,  receiving  only  one 
hundred  dollars  for  the  labor. 

It  was  a  difficult  and  weary  work.  "When  I 
can  work  fast,"  she  said,  "  I  am  never  weary,  nor 
do  I  reoret  either  that  the  work  has  been  be^nn  or 
that  I  have  undertaken  it.  I  am  only  inclined  to 
vow  that  I  will  never  translate  again,  if  I  live  to 
correct  the  sheets  for  Strauss."  When  the  book 
was  finished,  it  was  declared  to  be  "A  faithful,  ele- 
gant, and  scholarlike  translation  .  .  .  word  for  word, 
thought  for  thought,  and  sentence  for  sentence." 
Strauss  himself  was  delighted  with  it. 

The  days  passed  as  usual  in  the  quiet  home.  Now 
she  and  her  father,  the  latter  in  failing  health,  vis- 
ited the  Isle  of  AViglit,  and  saw  beautiful  Alum 
Bay,  with  its  "high  precipice,  the  strata  upheaved 
perpendicularly  in  rainbow,  —  like  streaks  of  the 
brightest  maize,  violet,  pink,  blue,  red,  brown,  and 
brilliant  white,  —  worn  by  the  weather  into  fantastic 
fretwork,  the  deep  blue  sky  above,  and  the  glorious 
sea  below."  Who  of  us  has  not  felt  this  same 
delight  in  looking  upon  this  picture,  painted  by 
nature  ? 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  219 

Now  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  as  well  as  other 
famous  people,  visited  the  Bra}^  family.  Miss  Evans 
writes:  "I  have  seen  Emerson,  —  the  first  man  I 
have  ever  seen."  High  praise  indeed  from  our  "great, 
calm  soul,"  as  he  called  Miss  Evans.  '•!  am  grate- 
ful for  the  Carlyle  eulogium  (on  Emerson) .  I  have 
shed  some  quite  delicious  tears  over  it.  This  is  a 
world  worth  abiding  in  while  one  man  can  thus  ven- 
erate and  love  another." 

Each  evening  she  played  on  the  piano  to  her  ad- 
miring father,  and  finally,  through  months  of  illness, 
carried  him  down  tenderly  to  the  grave.  He  died 
May  31,  1849. 

Worn  with  care,  Miss  Evans  went  upon  the  Con- 
tinent with  the  Brays,  visiting  Paris,  Milan,  the 
Italian  lakes,  and  finally  resting  for  some  months 
at  Geneva.  As  her  means  were  limited,  she  tried 
to  sell  her  Encydopmdia  Bn'tannica  at  half-price,  so 
that  she  could  have  money  for  music  lessons,  and 
to  attend  a  course  of  lectures  on  experimental  ph}'- 
sics,  b}'  the  renowned  Professor  de  la  Rive.  She 
was  also  carefully  reading  socialistic  themes,  Proud- 
hon,  Rousseau,  and  others.  She  wrote  to  friends: 
'^The  days  are  really  only  two  hours  long,  and  I 
have  so  many  things  to  do  that  I  go  to  bed  every 
night  miserable  because  I  have  left  out  something  I 
meant  to  do.  ...  I  take  a  dose  of  mathematics 
every  day  to  prevent  my  brain  from  becoming  quite 
soft.'" 

On  her  return  to  England,  she  visited  the  Brays, 


220  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

and  met  Mr.  Chapman,  the  editor  of  the  Westminster 
Revieiv.  and  Mr.  Mackay,  upon  whose  Progress  of 
the  Intellect  she  had  just  written  a  review.  Mr. 
Chapman  must  have  been  deeply  impressed  with  the 
learning  and  ability  of  Miss  Evans,  for  he  offered 
her  the  position  of  assistant  editor  of  the  magazine, 

—  a  most  unusual  position  for  a  woman,  since  its 
contributors  were  Froude,  Carlyle,  John  Stuart  Mill, 
and  other  able  men. 

Miss  Evans  accepted,  and  went  to  board  with 
Mr.  Chapman's  family  in  London.  How  different 
this  from  the  quiet  life  at  Foleshill  I  The  best  so- 
ciety, that  is,  the  greatest  in  mind,  opened  wide  its 
doors  to  her.  Herbert  Spencer,  who  had  just  pub- 
lished Social  Statics,  became  one  of  her  best  friends. 
Harriet  Martineau  came  often  to  see  her.  Grote 
was  ver}"  friendly. 

The  woman-editor  was  now  thirty -two  ;  her  mas- 
sive head  covered  with  brown  curls,  blue-gray  eyes, 
mobile,  sympathetic  mouth,  strong  chin,  pale  face, 
and  soft,  low  voice,  like  Dorothea's  in  Micldlemarch, 

—  "  the  voice  of  a  soul  that  has  once  lived  in  an  ^o- 
lian  harp."  Mr.  Bray  thought  that  Miss  Evans' 
head,  after  that  of  Napoleon,  showed  the  largest  de- 
velopment from  brow  to  ear  of  any  person's  recorded. 

She  had  extraordinary  power  of  expression,  and 
extraordinary  psychological  powers,  but  her  chief 
attraction  was  her  universal  sympathy.  "  She  es- 
sentially resembled  Socrates,"  says  Mathilde  Blind, 
"  in  her  manner  of  eliciting  whatsoever  capacit}^  for 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  221 

thought  might  be  latent  in  the  people  she  came  in 
contact  with ;  were  it  only  a  shoemaker  or  day- 
laborer,  she  would  never  rest  till  she  had  found  out 
in  what  points  that  particular  man  differed  from 
other  men  of  his  class.  She  always  rather  educed 
what  was  in  others  than  impressed  herself  on  them  ; 
showing  much  kindliuess  of  heart  in  drawing  out 
people  who  were  shy.  Sympathy  was  the  keynote 
of  her  nature,  the  source  of  her  iridescent  humor,  of 
her  subtle  knowledge  of  character,  of  her  dramatic 
genius."  No  person  attains  to  permanent  fame 
without  sympathy. 

Miss  Evans  now  found  her  heart  and  hands  full 
of  work.  Her  first  article  was  a  review  of  Carlyle's 
Life  of  John  Sterling.  She  was  fond  of  biography. 
She  said  :  "  We  have  often  wished  that  genius  would 
incline  itself  more  frequentl}^  to  the  task  of  the  biog- 
rapher, that  when  some  great  or  good  person  dies, 
instead  of  the  drearj-  three-or-five  volume  compila- 
tion of  letter  and  diary  and  detail,  little  to  the  pur- 
pose, which  two-thirds  of  the  public  have  not  the 
chance,  nor  the  other  third  the  inclination,  to  read, 
we  could  have  a  real  '  life,'  setting  forth  briefly  and 
vividlv  the  man's  inward  and  outward  struoorles, 
aims,  and  achievements,  so  as  to  make  clear  the 
meaning  which  his  experience  has  for  his  fellows. 

'•A  few  such  lives  (chiefly  autobiographies)  the 
world  possesses,  and  they  have,  perhaps,  been  more 
influential  on  the  formation  of  character  than  any 
other  kind  of  reading.  ...     It  is  a  help  to  read 


222  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

such  a  life  as  Margaret  Fuller's.  How  inexpressibly 
touching  that  passage  from  her  journal,  '  I  shall 
always  reign  through  the  intellect,  but  theJileT  tlie 
life  !  O  my  God !  shall  that  never  be  sweet?  '  I 
am  thankful,  as  if  for  myself,  that  it  was  sweet  at 
last." 

The  great  minds  which  Miss  Evans  met  made  life 
a  constant  joy,  though  she  was  frail  in  health.  Now 
Herbert  Spencer  took  her  to  hear  William  Tell  or 
the  Creation.  She  wrote  of  him  :  "We  have  ag-reed 
that  we  are  not  in  love  with  each  other,  and  that 
there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  have  as  much 
of  each  other's  society  as  we  like.  He  is  a  good, 
delightful  creature,  and  I  always  feel  better  for  be- 
ing with  him.  .  .  .  My  brightest  spot,  next  to  my 
love  of  old  friends,  is  the  deliciously  calm,  nev: 
friendship  that  Herbert  Spencer  gives  me.  We 
see  each  other  everv  dav,  and  have  a  deliofhtful 
camaraderie  in  everything.  But  for  him  my  life 
would  be  desolate  enough." 

There  is  no  telling  what  this  happy  friendship 
might  have  resulted  in,  if  Mr.  Spencer  had  not  in- 
troduced to  Miss  Evans,  George  Henry  Lewes,  a 
man  of  brilliant  conversational  powers,  who  had 
written  a  History  of  Philosophy .^  two  novels,  Ran- 
thorjje,  and  Bose,  Blanche.,  and  Violet,  and  was  a 
contributor  to  several  reviews.  Mr.  Lewes  was  a 
witt}'  and  versatile  man,  a  dramatic  critic,  an  actor 
for  a  short  time,  unsuccessful  as  an  editor  of  a  news- 
paper, and  unsuccessful  in  his  domestic  relations. 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  223 

That  he  loved  Miss  Evans  is  not  strange;  that 
she  admired  him,  while  she  pitied  him  and  his  three 
sons  in  their  broken  home-life,  is  perhaps  not 
strange.  At  first  she  did  not  like  him,  nor  did 
Margaret  Fuller,  but  Miss  Evans  says  :  "  Mr.  Lewes 
is  kind  and  attentive,  and  has  quite  won  my  reo-ard, 
after  having  had  a  good  deal  of  my  vituperation. 
Like  a  few  other  people  in  the  world,  he  is  much 
better  than  he  seems.  A  man  of  heart  and  con- 
science wearing  a  mask  of  flippancy." 

Miss  Evans  tired  of  her  hard  work,  as  who  does 
not  in  this  working  world ?  "I  am  bothered  to 
death,"  she  writes,  "  with  article-reading  and  scrap- 
work  of  all  sorts ;  it  is  clear  my  poor  head  will 
never  produce  anything  under  these  circumstances  ; 
hut  lam  patient.  ...  I  had  a  long  call  from  George 
Combe  yesterday.  He  says  he  thinks  the  Westmins- 
ter under  my  management  the  most  important  means 
of  enlightenment  of  a  literary  nature  in  existence  ; 
the  Edinburgh,  under  Jeffrey,  nothing  to  it,  etc.  I 
wish  /thought  so  too." 

Sick  with  continued  headaches,  she  went  up  to  the 
Enghsh  lakes  to  visit  Miss  Martineau.  The  coach, 
at  half-past  six  in  the  evening,  stopped  at  "The 
Knoll,"  and  a  beaming  face  came  to  welcome  her. 
During  the  evening,  she  says,  "Miss  Martineau 
came  behind  me,  put  her  hands  round  me,  and 
kissed  me  in  the  prettiest  way,  telling  me  she  was 
so  glad  she  had  got  me  here." 

Meantime  Miss   Evans  was  writing  learned  and 


224  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

valuable  articles  ou  Taxation,  Woman  iii  France, 
Evangelical  Teaching,  etc.  She  received  five  hun- 
dred dollars  yearly  from  her  father's  estate,  but  she 
lived  simply,  that  she  might  spend  much  of  this  for 
poor  relations. 

In  1854  she  resigned  her  position  on  the  West- 
minster, and  went  with  Mr.  Lewes  to  German}-, 
forming  a  union  which  thousands  who  love  her  must 
regard  as  the  great  mistake  of  a  very  great  life. 

Mr.  Lewes  was  collecting  materials  for  his  Life  of 
GoetJie.  This  took  them  to  Goethe's  home  at  Wei- 
mar. "  By  the  side  of  the  bed,"  she  says,  "  stands 
a  stuffed  chair  where  he  used  to  sit  and  read  while 
he  drank  his  coffee  in  the  morning.  It  was  not 
until  very  late  in  his  life  that  he  adopted  the  luxur}' 
of  an  armchair.  From  the  other  side  of  the  study 
one  enters  the  library,  which  is  fitted  up  in  a  ver}^ 
make-shift  fashion,  with  rough  deal  shelves,  and 
bits  of  paper,  with  Philosophy,  Histor}',  etc.,  writ- 
ten on  them,  to  mark  the  classification  of  the  books. 
Among  such  memorials  one  breathes  deeply,  and 
the  tears  rush  to  one's  eyes." 

George  Eliot  met  Liszt,  and  "  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life  beheld  real  inspiration,  —  for  the  first  time 
heard  the  true  tones  of  the  piano."  Ranch,  the 
great  sculptor,  called  upon  them,  and  "won  our 
hearts  by  his  beautiful  person  and  the  benignant 
and  intelligent  charm  of  his  conversation." 

Both  writers  were  hard  at  work.  George  Eliot 
was  writinof   an   article  on    Weimar  for  Fraser,  on 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  225 

Cummmg  for  Westminster,  and  translating  Spinoza's 
Ethics.  No  name  Avas  signed  to  these  productions, 
as  it  would  not  do  to  have  it  known  that  a  woman 
wrote  them.  The  education  of  most  women  was  so 
meagre  that  the  articles  would  have  been  considered 
of  little  value.  HappiW  Girton  and  Newnham  col- 
leges are  changing  this  estimate  of  the  sex.  Women 
do  not  like  to  be  regarded  as  inferior;  then  they 
must  educate  themselves  as  thoroughly  as  the  best 
men  are  educated. 

Mr.  Lewes  was  not  well.  "This  is  a  terrible 
trial  to  us  poor  scribblers,"  she  writes,  "to  whom 
health  is  money,  as  well  as  all  other  tilings  worth 
having."  They  had  but  one  sitting-room  between 
them,  and  the  scratching  of  another  pen  so  affected 
her  nerves,  as  to  drive  her  nearly  wild.  Pecuniarily, 
life  was  a  harder  struggle  than  ever,  for  there  were 
four  more  mouths  to  be  fed,  —  Mr.  Lewes'  three 
sous  and  their  mother. 

"  Our  life  is  intensely  occupied,  and  the  days  are 
far  too  short,"  she  writes.  They  were  reading  in 
ever}^  spare  moment,  twelve  plays  of  Shakespeare, 
Goethe's  works,  Wilhelm  Meister,  Gotz  von  Berlicliin- 
gen,  Hermann  and  Dorothea,  Iphigenia,  Wancler- 
Jahre,  Italianische  Reise,  and  others  ;  Heine's  poems  ; 
Lessing's  Laocoon  and  Nathan  the  Wise  ;  Macaulay's 
History  of  England;  Moore's  Life  of  Sheridan; 
Brougham's  Lives  of  Men  of  Letters;  White's  His- 
tory  of  Selhorne  ;  Whe well's  History  of  Inductive 
Sciences;  Boswell ;  Carpenter's  Compaixitive  Physiol- 


226  GEOBGE  ELIOT. 

ogy ;  Jones'  Animal  Kingdom;  Alison's  History  of 
Europe ;  Kalmis'  History  of  German  Protestantism  . 
Schrader's  German  Mythology;  Kingsley's  Greek 
Heroes;  and  the  Uiad  and  Odyssey  in  the  original. 
She  says,  "If  you  want  delightful  reading,  get 
Lowell's  My  Study  Windoics,  and  read  the  essays 
called  3fy  Garden  Acquaintances  and  Winter."  No 
wonder  they  were  busy. 

On  their  return  from  Germany  they  went  to  the 
sea-shore,  that  Mr.  Lewes  might  perfect  his  Sea-side 
Studies.  George  Eliot  entered  heartily  into  the 
work.  "  We  were  immensel}'  excited,"  she  says, 
"by  the  discovery  of  this  little  red  mesembryan- 
themnm.  It  was  a  crescendo  of  delight  when  we 
found  a  '  strawberry,'  and  a  fortissimo  when  I,  for 
the  first  time,  saw  the  pale,  fawn-colored  tentacles 
of  an  Anthea  cereus  viciously  waving  like  little  ser- 
pents in  a  low-tide  pool."  They  read  here  Gosse's 
Rambles  on  the  DevonsJtire  Coast,  Edward's  Zool- 
ogy, Harvey's  sea-side  book,  and  other  scientific 
works. 

And  now  at  thirty-seven  George  Eliot  was  to  be- 
gin her  creative  work.  Mr.  Lewes  had  often  said 
to  her,  "You  have  wit,  description,  and  philosophy 
- —  those  go  a  good  way  towards  the  production  of  a 
novel."  "It  had  always  been  a  vague  dream  of 
mine,"  she  says,  "that  sometime  or  other  I  might 
write  a  novel  .  .  .  but  I  never  went  further  toward 
the  actual  writing  than  an  introductory  chapter,  de- 
scribing a  Staffordshire  village,  and  the  life  of  the 


GEOUGE  ELIOT.  227 

neighboring  farm-houses  ;  and  as  the  years  passed 
on  I  lost  any  hope  that  I  should  ever  be  able  to 
write  a  novel,  just  as  I  desponded  about  everything 
else  in  my  future  life.  1  always  thought  I  was  defi- 
cient in  dramatic  power,  both  of  construction  and 
dialogue,  but  1  felt  I  should  be  at  my  ease  in  the 
descriptive  parts." 

After  she  had  written  a  portion  of  Amos  Barton 
in  her  Scenes  of  Clerical  Life,  she  read  it  to  Mr. 
Lewes,  who  told  her  that  now  he  was  sure  she  could 
write  good  dialogue,  but  not  as  yet  sure  about  her 
pathos.  One  evening,  in  his  absence,  she  wrote  the 
scene  describing  Milly's  death,  and  read  it  to  Mr. 
Lewes,  on  his  return.  "We  both  cried  over  it," 
she  says,  "  and  then  he  came  up  to  me  and  kissed 
me,  saying,  '  I  think  your  pathos  is  better  than 
your  fun  ! '  " 

Mr.  Lewes  sent  the  story  to  Blackwood,  with  the 
signature  of  "  George  Eliot,"  —  the  first  name  chosen 
because  it  was  his  own  name,  and  the  last  because 
it  pleased  her  fancy.  Mr.  Lewes  wrote  that  this 
story  by  a  friend  of  his,  showed,  according  to  his 
judgment,  "such  humor,  pathos,  vivid  presentation, 
and  nice  observation  as  have  not  Jbeen  exhibited,  in 
this  st3'le,  since  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield.^' 

Mr.  John  Blackwood  accepted  the  story,  but 
made  some  comments  which  discouraged  the  au- 
thor from  trying  another.  Mr.  Lewes  wrote  him 
the  effects  of  his  words,  which  he  hastened  to  with- 
draw, as  there  was  so  much  to  be  said  in   praise, 


228  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

that  he  reall}'  desired  more  stories  from  the  same 
pen,  and  sent  her  a  check  for  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars. 

This  was  evidenth'  soothing,  as  Mr.  GilfiVs  Love 
Story  and  Janefs  Repentance  were  at  once  written. 
Much  interest  began  to  be  expressed  about  the  au- 
thor. Some  said  Bulwer  wrote  the  sketches.  Thack- 
eray praised  them,  and  Arthur  Helps  said,  ''He  is  a 
great  writer."  Copies  of  the  stories  bound  together, 
with  the  title  Scenes  of  Clerical  Life,  were  sent  to 
Fronde,  Dickens,  Thackeray,  Tennyson,  Ruskin,  and 
Faraday.  Dickens  praised  the  liumor  and  the  pathos, 
and  thought  the  author  was  a  woman. 

Jane  Welch  Carlyle  thought  it  "  a  human  book, 
written  out  of  the  heart  of  a  live  man,  not  merely 
out  of  the  brain  of  an  author,  full  of  tenderness  and 
pathos,  without  a  scrap  of  sentimentality,  of  sense 
without  dogmatism,  of  earnestness  without  twaddle 
—  a  book  that  makes  one  feel  friends  at  once  and 
for  always  with  the  man  or  woman  who  wrote  it." 
She  guessed  the  author  was  "  a  man  of  middle  age, 
with  a  wife,  from  whom  he  has  got  those  beautiful 
feminine  touches  in  his  book,  a  good  many  children, 
and  a  dog  that  he  has  as  nnicli  fondness  for  as  I 
have  for  my  little  Nero." 

Mr.  Lewes  was  delighted,  and  said,  "Her  fame 
is  beginning."  George  Eliot  was  growing  happier, 
for  her  nature  had  been  somewhat  despondent.  She 
used  to  say,  "Expecting  disappointments  is  the 
only  form  of  hope  with  which  I  am  familiar."     She 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  229 

said,  "I  feel  a  deep  satisfaction  in  having  done  a 
bit  of  faithful  work  that  will  perhaps  remain,  like 
a  primrose-root  in  the  hedgerow,  and  gladden  and 
chasten  human  hearts  in  3'ears  to  come."  '"Con- 
science goes  to  the  hammering  in  of  nails '  is  my 
gospel,"  she  would  say.  "  Writing  is  part  of  my  re- 
ligion, and  I  can  write  no  word  that  is  not  prompted 
from  wnthin.  At  the  same  time  I  believe  that 
almost  all  the  best  books  in  the  world  have  been 
written  with  the  hope  of  getting  money  for  them." 

"My  life  has  deepened  unspeakably  during  the 
last  year :  I  feel  a  greater  capacity  for  moral  and 
intellectual  enjoyment,  a  more  acute  sense  of  m}' 
deficiencies  in  the  past,  a  more  solemn  desire  to  be 
faithful  to  coming  duties." 

For  Scenes  of  Clerical  Life  she  received  six  hun- 
dred dollars  for  the  first  edition,  and  much  more 
after  her  other  books  appeared. 

And  now  another  work,  a  longer  one,  was  grow- 
ing in  her  mind,  Adam  Bede,  the  germ  of  which, 
she  says,  was  an  anecdote  told  her  by  her  aunt, 
Elizabeth  Evans,  the  Dinah  Morris  of  tlie  book.  A 
very  ignorant  girl  had  murdered  her  child,  and  re- 
fused to  confess  it.  Mrs.  Evans,  who  was  a  Metho- 
dist preacher,  stayed  with  her  all  night,  praying 
with  her,  and  at  last  she  burst  into  tears  and  con- 
fessed her  crime.  Mrs.  Evans  went  with  her  in  the 
cart  to  the  place  of  execution,  and  ministered  to  the 
unhappy  girl  till  death  came. 

When  the  first  pages  of  Adam  Bede  were  shown 


230  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

to  Mr.  Blackwood,  he  said,  '^That  will  do."  George 
Eliot  and  Mr.  Lewes  went  to  Munich,  Dresden,  and 
Vienna  for  rest  and  change,  and  she  prepared  much 
of  the  book  in  this  time.  When  it  was  finished,  she 
wrote  on  the  manuscript,  Jubilate.  "To  my  dear 
husband,  George  Henry  Lewes,  I  give  the  Ms.  of  a 
work  which  would  never  have  been  written  but  for 
the  happiness  which  his  love  has  conferred  on  my 
life." 

For  this  novel  she  received  four  thousand  dollars 
for  the  copyright  for  four  years.  Fame  had  actually 
come.  All  the  literary  world  were  talking  about  it. 
John  Murray  said  there  had  never  been  such  a  book. 
Charles  Reade  said,  putting  his  finger  on  Lisbeth's 
account  of  her  coming  home  with  her  husband  from 
their  marriage,  "the  finest  thing  since  Shakespeare." 
A  workingman  wrote:  "Forgive  me,  dear  sir,  m}' 
boldness  in  asking  you  to  give  us  a  cheap  edition. 
You  would  confer  on  us  a  great  boon.  I  can  get 
plenty  of  trash  for  a  few  pence,  but  I  am  sick  of 
it."  Mr.  Charles  Buxton  said,  in  the  House  of 
Commons:  "As  the  farmer's  wife  says  in  Adam 
Bede,  'It  wants  to  be  hatched  over  again  and 
hatched  different.'  "  This  of  course  greath'  helped 
to  popularize  the  book. 

To  George  Eliot  all  this  was  cause  for  the  deepest 
gratitude.  They  were  able  now  to  rent  a  home  at 
Wandworth,  and  move  to  it  at  once.  The  poverty 
and  the  drudgerv  of  life  seemed  over.  She  said : 
"I  sing  my  magnificat  in  a  quiet  way,  and  have  a 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  231 

great  deal  of  deep,  silent  jo}' ;  but  few  authors,  I 
suppose,  who  have  had  a  real  success,  have  known 
less  of  the  flush  and  the  sensations  of  triumph  that 
are  talked  of  as  the  accompaniments  of  success.  I 
often  think  of  my  dreams  when  I  was  four  or  five 
and  twenty.  I  thought  then  how  happy  fame  would 
make  me.  ...  I  am  assured  now  that  Adam  Bede 
was  worth  writing,  —  worth  living  through  those 
long  years  to  write.  But  now  it  seems  impossible 
that  I  shall  ever  write  anything  so  good  and  true 
again."  Up  to  this  time  the  world  did  not  know 
who  George  Eliot  was  ;  but  as  a  man  by  the  name 
of  Liggins  laid  claim  to  the  authorship,  and  tried  to 
borrow  money  for  his  needs  because  Blackwood 
would  not  pay  him,  the  real  name  of  the  author  had 
to  be  divulged. 

Five  thousand  copies  of  Ada7n  Bede  were  sold  the 
first  two  weeks,  and  sixteen  thousand  the  first  year. 
So  excellent  was  the  sale  that  Mr.  Blackwood  sent 
her  four  thousand  dollars  in  addition  to  the  first 
four.  The  work  was  soon  translated  into  French, 
German,  and  Hungarian.  Mr.  Lewes'  Phijsiologij 
of  Commoyi  Life  was  now  published,  but  it  brought 
little  pecuniary  return. 

The  reading  was  carried  on  as  usual  by  the  two 
students.  The  Life  of  George  Stephenson;  the 
Electraof  Sophocles  ;  the  Agamemnon  of  ^schylus, 
Harriet  Martineau's  British  Empire  in  Lidia;  and 
History  of  the  Thirty  Years'  Peace;  Beranger, 
Modern   Painters^    containing    some    of    the  finest 


232  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

writing  of  the  age  ;  Overbech  on  Greek  art ;  Anna 
Mary  Howitt's  book  on  Munich ;  Carlyle's  Life  of 
Frederick  the  Great;  Darwin's  Origin  of  Species; 
Emerson's  Man  the  Reformer.,  "  which  comes  to  me 
with  fresh  beauty  and  meaning  "  ;  Buckle's  History 
of  Civilization;  Plato  and  Aristotle. 

An  American  publisher  now  offered  her  six  thou- 
sand dollars  for  a  book,  but  she  was  obliged  to 
decline,  for  she  was  writing  the  Mill  on  the  Floss,  in 
1860,  for  which  Blackwoood  gave  her  ten  thousand 
dollars  for  tlie  first  edition  of  four  thousand  copies, 
and  Harper  &  Brothers  fifteen  hundred  dollars  for 
using  it  also.  Tauchnitz  paid  her  five  hundred  for 
the  German  reprint. 

She  said:  '•  I  am  grateful  and  yet  rather  sad  to 
have  finished ;  sad  that  I  shall  live  with  my  people 
on  the  banks  of  the  Floss  no  longer.  But  it  is  time 
that  I  should  go,  and  absorb  some  new  life  and 
gather  fresh  ideas."  They  went  at  once  to  Italy, 
where  they  spent  several  months  in  Florence,  Yen- 
ice,  and  Rome. 

In  the  former  city  she  made  her  studies  for  her 
great  novel,  Romola.  She  read  Sismondi's  History 
of  the  Italian  Republics,  Tenneman's  History  of 
Philosophy,  T.  A.  Trollope's  Beata,  Hallam  on  the 
Study  of  Roman  Law  in  the  Middle  Ages,  Gibbon 
on  the  Revival  of  Greek  Learning,  Burlamachi's 
Life  of  Savonarola;  also  V ill ari's  life  of  the  great 
preacher,  Mrs.  Jameson's  Sacred  and  Legendary 
Art,  Machiavelli's  works,  Petrarch's  Letters,  Casa 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  233 

Ouidi  Windows^  Buhle's  History  of  Modern  Philos- 
ophy^ Story's  Roha  di  Eoma,  Liddell's  Rome^  Gib- 
bon, Moslieim,  and  one  might  almost  say  the  whole 
range  of  Italian  literature  in  the  original.  Of 
Moramsen's  Historu  of  Rome  she  said,  "It  is  so 
fine  that  I  count  all  minds  graceless  who  read  it 
without  the  deepest  stirrings." 

The  study  necessary  to  make  one  familiar  with 
fifteenth  century  times  was  almost  limitless.  No 
wonder  she  told  Mr.  Cross,  years  afterward,  "  I 
began  Romola  a  young  woman,  I  finished  it  an  old 
woman  "  ;  but  that,  with  Adam  Bede  and  Middle- 
riiarch,  will  be  her  monument.  "  What  courage  and 
patience,"  she  says,  "  are  wanted  for  every  life  that 
aims  to  produce  anything  !  "  "In  authorship  I  hold 
carelessness  to  be  a  mortal  sin."  "  I  took  unspeaka- 
ble pains  in  preparing  to  write  Romola." 

For  this  one  book,  on  which  she  spent  a  year  and 
a  half,  Cornhill  Magazine  paid  her  the  small  for- 
tune of  thirty-five  thousand  dollars.  She  purchased 
a  i3leasant  home,  "The  Priory,"  Regent's  Park, 
where  she  made  her  friends  welcome,  though  she 
never  made  calls  upon  any,  for  lack  of  time.  She 
had  found,  like  Victor  Hugo,  that  time  is  a  very 
precious  thing  for  those  who  wish  to  succeed  in  life. 
Browning,  Huxley,  and  Herbert  Spencer  often  came 
to  dine. 

Says  Mr.  Cross,  in  his  admirable  life  :  "  The  enter- 
tainment was  frequently  varied  by  music  when  any 
good  performer  happened  to  be   present.     I  think. 


234  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

however,  that  the  majority  of  visitors  delighted 
chief!}'  to  come  for  the  chance  of  a  few  words  with 
George  Eliot  alone.  When  the  drawiug-room  door 
of  the  Priory  opened,  a  first  glance  revealed  her 
always  in  the  same  low  arm-chair  on  the  left-hand 
side  of  the  fire.  On  entering,  a  visitor's  eye  w^as  at 
once  arrested  by  the  massive  head.  The  abundant 
hair,  streaked  with  gray  now,  was  draped  with  lace, 
arranged  mantilla  fashion,  coming  to  a  point  at  the 
top  of  the  forehead.  If  she  were  engaged  in  con- 
versation, her  body  was  usually  bent  forw^ard  with 
eager,  anxious  desire  to  get  as  close  as  possible  to 
the  person  with  whom  she  talked.  She  had  a  great 
dislike  to  raising  her  voice,  and  often  became  so 
wholly  absorbed  in  conversation  that  the  announce- 
ment of  an  in-coming  visitor  failed  to  attract  her 
attention  ;  but  the  moment  the  eyes  were  lifted  up, 
and  recognized  a  friend,  they  smiled  a  rare  wel- 
come,—  sincere,  cordial,  grave, — a  welcome  that 
was  felt  to  come  straight  from  the  heart,  not  gradu- 
ated according  to  any  social  distinction." 

After  much  reading  of  Fawcett,  Mill,  and  other 
writers  on  political  economy,  Felix  Holt  was  writ- 
ten, in  1866,  and  for  this  she  received  from  Black- 
wood twenty-five  thousand  dollars. 

Very  much  worn  w^th  her  work,  though  Mr. 
Lewes  relieved  her  in  every  way  possible,  by  writ- 
ing letters  and  looking  over  all  criticisms  of  her 
books,  which  she  never  read,  she  was  obliged  to  go 
to  Germany  for  rest. 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  235 

In  1868  she  published  her  long  poem,  The  Span- 
ish Gypsy,  reading  Spanish  literature  carefully,  and 
finally  passing  some  time  in  Spain,  that  she  might 
be  the  better  able  to  make  a  lasting  work.  Had  she 
given  her  life  to  poetry,  doubtless  she  would  have 
been  a  great  poet. 

Silas  Marner^  written  before  Eomola,  in  1861, 
had  been  well  received,  and  3Iicldle march,  in  1872, 
made  a  great  sensation.  It  was  translated  into  sev- 
eral languages.  George  Bancroft  wrote  her  from 
Berlin  that  everybody  was  reading  it.  For  this  she 
received  a  much  larger  sum  than  the  thirty-five 
thousand  which  she  was  paid  for  Roniola. 

A  home  was  now  purchased  in  Surrey,  with  eight 
or  nine  acres  of  pleasure  grounds,  for  George  Eliot 
had  always  longed  for  trees  and  flowers  about  her 
house.  "  Sunlight  and  sweet  air,"  she  said,  "make 
a  new  creature  of  me."  Daniel  Deronda  followed 
in  1876,  for  which,  it  is  said,  she  read  nearly  a  thou- 
sand volumes.  Whether  this  be  true  or  not,  the 
hst  of  books  given  in  her  life,  of  her  reading  in 
these  later  years,  is  as  astonishing  as  it  is  helpful 
for  anv  who  desire  real  knowledge. 

At  Witley,  in  Surrey,  they  lived  a  quiet  life,  see- 
ing only  a  few  friends  Hke  the  Tennysons,  the  Du 
Mauriers,  and  Sir  Henry  and  Lady  Holland.  Both 
were  growing  older,  and  Mr.  Lewes  was  in  very 
poor  health.  Finally,  after  a  ten  days'  illness,  he 
died,  Nov.  28,  1878. 

To  George  Eliot  this  loss  was  immeasurable.     She 


236  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

needed  his  help  and  his  affection.  She  said,  "I 
like  not  onW  to  be  loved,  but  also  to  be  told  that 
I  am  loved,"  and  he  had  idolized  her.  He  said  :  ''  I 
owe  Spencer  a  debt  of  gratitude.  It  was  through 
him  that  I  learned  to  know  Marian.  — to  know  her 
was  to  love  her,  and  since  then,  my  life  has  been 
a  new  birth.  To  her  I  owe  all  m}'  prosperity  and 
all  my  happiness.     God  bless  her  !  " 

Mr.  John  Walter  Cross,  for  some  time  a  wealthy 
banker  in  New  York,  had  long  been  a  friend  of  the 
family,  and  though  many  years  younger  tlian  George 
Eliot,  became  her  helper  in  these  days  of  need.  A 
George  Henry  Lewes  studentship,  of  the  value  of 
one  thousand  dollars  yearly,  was  to  be  given  to 
Cambridge  for  some  worthy  student  of  either  sex, 
in  memory  of  the  man  she  had  loved.  "  I  want  to 
live  a  little  time  that  I  may  do  certain  things  for  his 
sake,"  she  said.  She  grew  despondent,  and  the 
Cross  family  used  ever}^  means  to  win  her  away 
from  her  sorrow. 

Mr.  Cross'  mother,  to  whom  he  was  devotedly 
attached,  had  also  died,  and  the  loneliness  of  both 
made  their  companionship  more  comforting.  They 
read  Dante  together  in  the  original,  and  gradually 
the  younger  man  found  that  his  heart  was  deeply 
interested.  It  was  the  higher  kind  of  love,  the 
honor  of  mind  for  mind  and  soul  for  soul. 

"I  shall  be,"  she  said,  "a  better,  more  loving- 
creature  than  I  could  have  been  in  solitude.  To  be 
constantly,  lovingly  grateful  for  this  gift  of  a  per- 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  237 

feet  love  is  the  best  illumination  of  one's  mind  to  all 
the  possible  good  there  may  be  in  store  for  man  on 
this  troublous  little  planet." 

Mr.  Cross  and  George  Eliot  were  married,  May  6, 
1880,  a  year  and  a  half  after  Mr.  Lewes'  death,  his 
son  Charles  giving  her  away,  and  went  at  once  to 
Italy.  She  wrote  :  "Marriage  has  seemed  to  restore 
me  to  my  old  self.  .  .  .  To  feel  daily  the  loveliness 
of  a  nature  close  to  me,  and  to  feel  grateful  for  it, 
is  the  fountain  of  tenderness  and  strength  to  endure." 
Having  passed  through  a  severe  illness,  she  wrote 
to  a  friend  :  "  I  have  been  cared  for  by  something 
much  better  than  angelic  tenderness.  ...  If  it  is 
any  good  for  me  that  my  life  has  been  prolonged 
till  now,  I  believe  it  is  owing  to  this  miraculous  af- 
fection that  has  chosen  to  watch  over  me." 

Sh'j  did  not  forget  Mr.  Lewes.  In  looking  upon 
the  Grande  Chartreuse,  she  said,  "  I  would  still  give 
up  my  own  life  willingly,  if  he  could  have  the  happi- 
ness instead  of  me." 

On  their  return  to  London,  they  made  their  winter 
home  at  4  Cheyne  Walk,  Chelsea,  a  plain  brick 
house.  The  days  were  gliding  by  happily.  George 
Eliot  was  interested  as  ever  in  all  great  subjects, 
giving  five  hundred  dollars  for  woman's  higher 
education  at  Girton  College,  and  helping  many  a 
struggling  author,  or  providing  for  some  poor  friend 
of  early  times  who  was  proud  to  be  remembered. 

She  and  Mr.  Cross  began  their  reading  for  the 
day  with  the  Bible,  she  especially  enjoying  Isaiah, 


238  GEORGE  ELIOT. 

Jeremiah,  and  St.  Paul's  Epistles.  Then  they  read 
Max  MuUer's  works,  Shakespeare,  Milton,  Scott, 
and  whatever  was  best  in  English,  Erench,  and 
German  literature.  Milton  she  called  her  demigod. 
Her  husband  says  she  had  "  a  limitless  persistency 
in  application."  Her  health  was  better,  and  she 
gave  promise  of  doing  more  great  work.  AVhen 
urged  to  write  her  autobiography,  she  said,  half 
sighing  and  half  smiling :  "  The  only  thing  I  should 
care  much  to  dwell  on  would  be  the  absolute  de- 
spair I  suffered  from,  of  ever  being  able  to  achieve 
anything.  No  one  could  ever  have  felt  greater 
despair,  and  a  knowledge  of  this  might  be  a  help  to 
some  other  struggler." 

Friday  afternoon,  Dec.  17,  she  went  to  see  Aga- 
memnon performed  in  Greek  by  Oxford  students, 
and  the  next  afternoon  to  a  concert  at  St.  James 
Hall.  She  took  cold,  and  on  Monday  was  treated 
for  sore  throat.  On  Wednesday  evening  the  doctors 
came,  and  she  whispered  to  her  husband,  "Tell 
them  I  have  great  pain  in  the  left  side."  This  was 
the  last  word.  She  died  with  every  faculty  bright, 
and  her  heart  responsive  to  all  noble  things. 

She  loved  knowledge  to  the  end.  She  said,  "  My 
constant  groan  is  that  I  must  leave  so  much  of  the 
greatest  writing  which  the  centuries  have  sifted  for 
me,  unread  for  want  of  time." 

She  had  the  broadest  charity  for  those  whose 
views  differed  from  hers.  She  said,  "  The  best 
lesson  of  tolerance  we  have  to  learn,  is  to  tolerate 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  239 

intolerance."  She  hoped  for  and  "  looked  forward 
to  the  time  when  the  impulse  to  help  our  fellows  shall 
be  as  immediate  and  as  urresistible  as  that  which  I 
feel  to  grasp  something  firm  if  I  am  falling." 

One  Sunday  afternoon  I  went  to  her  grave  in 
Highgate  Cemetery,  London.  A  gray  granite  shaft, 
about  twenty-five  feet  high,  stands  *^ above  it,  with 
these  beautiful  words  from  her  great  poem  : 

''  0  may  I  join  the  choir  invisible, 
Of  those  immortal  dead  who  live  again 
In  minds  made  better  by  tlieir  presence." 

HERE    LIES    THE    BODY 
OF 

GEORGE   ELIOT, 
MARY   ANX   CROSS. 

BORN,   22d    NOVEMBER,    1810; 
1>IED,    22d  DECEMBER,   1880. 

A  Stone  coping  is  around  this  grave,  and  bouquets  of 
yellow  crocuses  and  hyacinths  lie  upon  it.  Next 
to  her  grave  is  a  horizontal  slab,  with  the  name  of 
George  Henry  Lewes  upon  the  stone. 


240  ELIZABETH  FRY 


ELIZABETH   FRY. 


WHEN  a  woman  of  beauty,  great  wealth,  and 
the  highest  social  position,  devotes  her  life 
to  the  lifting  of  the  lowly  and  the  criminal,  and 
preaches  the  Gospel  from  the  north  of  Scotland  to 
the  south  of  France,  it  is  not  strange  that  the  world 
admires,  and  that  books  are  written  in  praise  of  her. 
Unselfishness  makes  a  rare  and  radiant  life,  and 
this  was  the  crowning  l^eauty  of  the  life  of  Eliza- 
beth Fry. 

Born  in  Norwich,  England,  Ma}^  21,  1780,  Eliza- 
beth was  the  third  daughter  of  Mr.  John  Gurney,  a 
wealthy  London  merchant.  Mrs.  Gurney,  the 
mother,  a  descendant  of  the  Barclays  of  Ury,  wr.s 
a  woman  of  much  personal  beaut}^,  singularly  intel- 
lectual for  those  times,  making  her  home  a  place 
where  literary  and  scientific  people  loved  to  gather. 

Elizabeth  well  nigh  idolized  her  mother,  and  used 
often  to  cry  after  going  to  bed,  lest  death  should 
take  away  the  precious  parent.  In  the  daytime, 
when  the  mother,  not  very  robust,  would  sometimes 
lie  down  to  rest,  the  child  would  creep  to  the  bed- 
side and  watch  tenderly  and  anxiously,  to  see  if  she 
were    breathing.       Well    might   Mrs.   Gurney  say. 


ELIZABETH  FRY.  241 

"My  dove-like  Betsy  scarcel}' ever  offends,  and  is, 
in  every  sense  of  the  word,  triilj'  engaging." 

Mrs.  Fry  wrote  years  afterward:  "My  mother 
was  most  dear  to  me,  and  the  wallN:s  she  took  with 
me  in  the  old-fashioned  garden  are  as  fresh  with  me 
as  if  only  just  passed,  and  her  telling  me  about 
Adam  and  Eve  being  driven  out  of  Paradise.  I 
alwavs  considered  it  must  be  just  like  our  garden.  .  .  . 
I  remem])er  with  pleasure  my  mother's  beds  of  wild 
flowers,  which,  with  delight,  I  used  as  a  child  to 
attend  with  her  ;  it  gave  me  that  pleasure  in  observ- 
ing their  beauties  and  varieties  that,  though  I  never 
have  had  time  to  become  a  botanist,  few  can  imag- 
ine, in  my  many  journeys,  how  I  have  been  pleased 
and  refreshed  by  observing  and  enjoying  the  wild 
flowers  on  my  way." 

The  home,  Earlham  Hall,  was  one  of  much 
beauty  and  elegance,  a  seat  of  the  Bacon  family. 
The  large  house  stood  in  the  centre  of  a  well-wooded 
park,  the  river  Wensum  flowing  through  it.  On  the 
south  front  of  the  house  was  a  large  lawn,  flanked 
by  great  trees,  underneath  which  wild  flowers  grew 
in  profusion.  The  views  about  the  house  were  so 
artistic  that  artists  often  came  there  to  sketch. 

In  this  restful  and  happy  home,  after  a  brief 
illness,  Mrs.  Gurney  died  in  early  womanhood,  leav- 
ing eleven  children,  all  young,  the  smallest  but  two 
years  old.  Elizabeth  was  twelve,  old  enough  to 
feel  the  irreparable  loss.  To  the  day  of  her  death 
tlie  memory  of  this  time  was  extremely  sad. 


242  ELIZABETH  FRY. 

She  was  a  nervous  and  sensitive  child,  afraid  of 
the  dark,  begging  that  a  light  be  left  in  her  room, 
and  equally  afraid  to  bathe  in  the  sea.  Her  feel- 
ings were  regarded  as  the  whims  of  a  child,  and  her 
nervous  system  was  injured  in  consequence.  She 
always  felt  the  lack  of  wisdom  in  "hardening" 
children,  and  said,  "1  am  now  of  opinion  that  vay 
fear  would  have  been  much  more  subdued,  and 
great  suffering  spared,  by  its  having  been  still  more 
yielded  to:  by -having  a  light  left  in  my  room,  not 
beino^  lonsj  left  alone,  and  never  forced  to  bathe." 

After  her  marriage  she  guided  her  children  rather 
than  attempt  "  to  break  their  wills,"  and  lived  to  see 
happy  results  from  the  good  sense  and  Christian 
principle  involved  in  such  guiding.  In  her  prison 
work  she  used  the  least  possible  governing,  win- 
ning control  by  kindness  and  gentleness. 

Elizabeth  grew  to  young  womanhood,  with  pleas- 
ing manners,  slight  and  graceful  in  body,  with  a 
profusion  of  soft  flaxen  hair,  and  a  bright,  intelli- 
gent face.  Her  mind  was  quick,  penetrating,  and 
original.  She  was  a  skilful  rider  on  horseback,  and 
made  a  fine  impression  in  her  scarlet  riding-habit, 
for,  while  her  family  were  Quakers,  they  did  not 
adopt  the  gray  dress. 

She  was  attractive  in  societ}^  and  much  admired. 
She  writes  in  her  journal :  '•  Company  at  dinner  ;  I 
must  beware  of  not  being  a  flirt,  it  is  an  abominable 
character  ;  I  hope  I  shall  never  be  one,  and  yet  I  fear 
I  am  one  now  a  little.   ...     I  think  I  am  bv  de2;rees 


ELIZABETH  FRY.  243 

losing  many  excellent  qualities.  I  lay  it  to  my  great 
love  of  gayety,  and  the  world.  ...  I  am  now  seven- 
teen, and  if  some  kind  and  great  circumstance  does 
not  happen  to  me,  I  shall  have  my  talents  devoured 
by  moth  and  rust.  They  will  lose  their  brightness, 
and  one  day  they  will  prove  a  curse  instead  of  a 
blessing." 

Before  she  was  eighteen,  William  Savery,  an 
American  friend,  came  to  England  to  spend  two 
years  in  the  British  Isles,  preaching.  The  seven 
beautiful  Gurney  sisters  went  to  hear  him,  and  sat 
on  the  front  seat,  Elizabeth,  "  with  her  smart  boots, 
purple,  laced  with  scarlet." 

As  the  preacher  proceeded,  she  was  greatly  moved, 
weeping  during  the  service,  and  nearly  all  the  way 
home.  She  had  been  thrown  much  among  those 
who  were  Deists  in  thought,  and  this  gospel-message 
seemed  a  revelation  to  her. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Savery  came  to  Earlham 
Hall  to  breakfast.  "From  this  day,"  say  her 
daughters,  in  their  interesting  memoir  of  their  mother, 
"  her  love  of  pleasure  and  the  world  seemed  gone." 
She,  herself,  said,  in  her  last  illness,  "Since  my 
heart  was  touched,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  I  believe 
1  never  have  awakened  from  sleep,  in  sickness  or  in 
health,  by  day  or  by  night,  without  my  first  waking 
thought  being,  how  best  I  might  serve  my  Lord." 

Soon  after  she  visited  London,  that  she  might, 
as  she  said,  "  try  all  things  "  and  choose  for  herself 
what  appeared  to  her   "to  be  good."     She  wrote  : 


244  ELIZABETH  FRY. 

"  I  went  to  Drury  Lane  in  the  evening.  I  must  own 
I  was  extreme h'  disappointed ;  to  be  sure,  the  house 
is  grand  and  dazzling ;  but  I  had  no  other  feeUng 
whilst  there  than  that  of  wishing  it  over.  ...  I 
called  on  Mrs.  Siddons,  who  was  not  at  home  ;  then 
on  Mrs.  Twiss,  who  gave  me  some  paint  for  the 
evening.  I  was  painted  a  little,  I  had  my  hair 
dressed,  and  did  look  pretty  for  me." 

On  her  return  to  Earlham  Hall  she  found  that 
the  London  pleasure  had  not  been  satisfying.  She 
says,  "  I  wholly  gave  up  on  my  own  ground,  attend- 
ing all  places  of  public  amusement ;  I  saw  they 
tended  to  promote  evil ;  therefore,  if  I  could  attend 
them  without  being  hurt  myself,  I  felt  in  entering 
them  I  lent  ni}^  aid  to  promote  that  which  I  was 
sure  from  what  I  saw  hurt  others." 

She  was  also  much  exercised  about  dancing,  think- 
ing, while  "  in  a  famil}',  it  may  be  of  use  by  the 
bodily  exercise,"  that  "the  more  the  pleasures  of 
life  are  given  up,  the  less  we  love  the  world,  and 
our  hearts  will  be  set  upon  better  things." 

The  heretofore  fashionable  young  girl  began  to 
visit  the  poor  and  the  sick  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
at  last  decided  to  open  a  school  for  poor  children. 
Only  one  boy  came  at  first ;  but  soon  she  had  seventy. 
She  lost  none  of  her  good  cheer  and  charming 
manner,  but  rather  grew  more  charming.  She  cul- 
tivated her  mind  as  well,  reading  logic, — Watts  on 
Judgment,  Lavater,  etc. 

The  rules  of  life  whi(;h  she  wrote  for  herself  at 


ELIZABETH  FRY.  245 

eighteen  are  worth  copying  :  "First, — Never  lose 
any  time  ;  I  do  not  think  that  lost  which  is  spent  in 
amusement  or  recreation  some  time  every  day  ;  but 
always  be  in  the  habit  of  being  employed.  Second,  — 
Never  err  the  least  in  truth.  Third,  —  Never  say 
an  ill  thing  of  a  person  when  I  can  saj'  a  good 
thing  of  him  ;  not  only  speak  charitabh^,  but  feel 
so.  Fourth,  — Never  be  irritable  or  unkind  to  any- 
body. Fifth,  —  Never  indulge  m^'self  in  luxuries 
that  are  not  necessary.  Sixth,  —  Do  all  things  with 
consideration,  and  when  my  path  to  act  right  is 
most  difficult,  put  confidence  in  that  Power  alone 
which  is  able  to  assist  me,  and  exert  my  own  powers 
as  far  as  they  go." 

Gradually  she  laid  aside  all  jewelry,  then  began 
to  dress  in  quiet  colors,  and  finally  adopted  the 
Quaker  garb,  feeling  that  she  could  do  more  good 
in  it.  At  first  her  course  did  not  altogether  please 
her  family,  but  they  lived  to  idolize  and  bless  her 
for  her  doings,  and  to  thankfully  enjoy  her  world- 
wide fame. 

At  twenty  she  received  an  offer  of  marriage  from 
a  wealthy  London  merchant,  Mr.  Joseph  Frv.  She 
hesitated  for  some  time,  lest  her  active  duties  in  the 
church  should  conflict  with  the  cares  of  a  home  of 
her  own.  She  said,  "  My  most  anxious  wish  is, 
that  I  may  not  hinder  my  spiritual  welfare,  which  I 
have  so  much  feared  as  to  make  me  often  doubt  if 
marriage  were  a  desirable  thing  for  me  at  this  time, 
or  even  the  thoughts  of  it." 


246  ELIZABETH  FRY. 

However,  she  was  soon  married,  and  a  happy  life 
resulted.  For  most  women  this  marriage,  which 
made  her  the  mother  of  eleven  children,  would  have 
made  all  public  work  impossible  ;  but  to  a  woman  of 
Elizabeth  Fry's  strong  character  nothing  seemed 
impossible.  Whether  she  would  have  accomplished 
more  for  the  world  had  she  remained  unmarried,  no 
one  can  tell. 

Her  husband's  parents  were  "plain,  consistent 
friends,"  and  his  sister  became  especially  congenial 
to  the  young  bride.  A  large  and  airy  house  was 
taken  in  London,  St.  Mildred's  Court,  which  be- 
came a  centre  for  "  Friends  "  in  both  Great  Britain 
and  America. 

With  all  her  wealth  and  her  fondness  for  her 
family,  she  wrote  in  her  journal,  "I  have  been 
married  eight  years  3'esterday ;  various  trials  of 
faith  and  patience  have  been  permitted  me ;  my 
course  has  been  very  different  to  what  I  had  ex- 
pected ;  instead  of  being,  as  I  had  hoped,  a  useful 
instrument  in  the  Church  Militant,  here  I  am  a  care- 
worn wife  and  mother  outwardly,  nearly  devoted  to 
the  things  of  this  life  ;  though  at  times  this  differ- 
ence in  my  destination  has  been  trying  to  me,  yet  I 
believe  those  trials  (which  have  certainly  been  very 
pinching)  that  I  have  had  to  go  through  have  been 
verv  useful,  and  have  brought  me  to  a  feeliuoj  sense 
of  what  I  am  ;  and  at  the  same  time  have  taught  me 
where  power  is,  and  in  what  we  are  to  glory  ;  not  in 
ourselves  nor  in   anvthing:  we  can  be  or  do.  but  we 


ELIZABETH  FRY.  247 

are  alone  to  desire  that  He  may  be  glorified,  eitiier 
through  us  or  others,  in  our  being  something  or 
nothing,  as  He  may  see  best  for  us." 

After  eleven  years  the  Fry  family  moved  to  a 
beautiful  home  in  the  country  at  Plashet.  Changes 
had  come  in  those  eleven  years.  The  father  had 
died ;  one  sister  had  married  Sir  Thomas  Fowell 
Buxton,  and  she  herself  had  been  made  a  '' minis- 
ter" by  the  Society  of  Friends.  While  her  hands 
were  very  full  with  the  care  of  her  seven  children, 
she  had  yet  found  time  to  do  much  outside  Christian 
work. 

Naturally  shrinking,  she  says,  "I  find  it  an 
awful  thing  to  rise  amongst  a  large  assembly,  and, 
unless  much  covered  with  love  and  power,  hardly 
know  how  to  venture."  But  she  seemed  always  to 
be  '-covered  with  love  and  power,"  for  she  prayed 
much  and  studied  her  Bible  closely,  and  her  preach- 
ing seemed  to  melt  alike  crowned  heads  and  crimi- 
nals in  chains. 

Opposite  the  Plashet  House,  with  its  great  trees 
and  flowers,  was  a  dilapidated  building  occupied  by 
an  aged  man  and  his  sister.  They  had  once  been 
well-to-do,  but  were  now  very  poor,  earning  a  pit- 
tance by  selling  rabbits.  The  sister,  shy  and  sor- 
rowful from  their  reduced  circumstances,  was  nearly 
inaccessible,  but  Mrs.  Fry  won  her  way  to  her 
heart.  Then  she  asked  how  they  would  like  to  have 
a  girls'  school  in  a  big  room  attached  to  the  build- 
ing. They  consented,  and  soon  seventy  poor  girls 
were  in  attendance. 


248  ELIZABETH  FRY. 

"She  had,"  says  a  friend,  "the  gentlest  touch 
wit)i  children.  She  would  win  their  hearts,  if  they 
had  never  seen  her  before,  almost  at  the  first  glance, 
and  by  the  first  sound  of  her  musical  voice." 

Then  the  young  wife,  now  thirty-one,  established 
a  depot  of  calicoes  and  flannels  for  the  poor,  with 
a  room  full  of  drugs,  and  another  department  where 
good  soup  was  prepared  all  through  the  hard  winters. 
She  would  go  into  the  "  Irish  Colony,"  taking  her 
two  older  daughters  with  her,  that  they  might  learn 
the  sweetness  of  benevolence,  "  threading  her  way 
through  children  and  pigs,  up  broken  staircases, 
and  by  narrow  passages  ;  then  she  would  listen  to 
their  tales  of  want  and  woe." 

Now  she  would  find  a  young  mother  dead,  with  a 
paper  cross  pinned  upon  her  breast ;  now  she  visited 
a  Gypsy  camp  to  care  for  a  sick  child,  and  give 
them  Bibles.  Each  year  when  the  camp  returned  to 
Plashet,  their  chief  pleasure  was  the  visits  of  the 
lovely  Quaker.  Blessings  on  thee,  beautiful  Eliza- 
beth Fry  ! 

She  now  began  to  assist  in  the  public  meetings 
near  London,  but  with  some  hesitation,  as  it  took 
her  from  home  ;  but  after  an  absence  of  two  weeks, 
she  found  her  household  "in  very  comfortable  order  ; 
and  so  far  from  having  suflJ'ered  in  my  absence,  it 
appears  as  if  a  better  blessing  had  attended  them 
than  common." 

She  did  not  forget  her  home  interests.  One  of 
her  servants  being  ill,  she  watched  by  his  bedside 


ELIZABETH  FRY.  249 

till  he  died.  When  she  talked-  with  him  of  the 
world  to  come,  he  said,  "  God  bless  you,  ma'am." 
She  said,  "  There  is  no  set  of  people  I  feel  so  much 
about  as  servants,  as  I  do  not  think  thev  have  sen- 
erally  justice  done  to  them ;  they  are  too  much  con- 
sidered as  another  race  of  beings,  and  we  are  apt  to 
forget  that  the  holy  injunction,  holds  good  with 
them,  '  Do  as  thou  wouldst  be  done  unto.'  " 

She  who  could  dine  with  kings  and  queens,  felt 
as  regards  servants,  '•  that  in  the  best  sense  we  are 
all  one,  and  though  our  paths  here  may  be  different, 
we  have  all  souls  equally  valuable,  and  have  all  the 
same  work  to  do ;  which,  if  properly  considered, 
should  lead  us  to  great  sympathy  and  love,  and  also 
to  a  constant  care  for  their  welfare,  both  here  and 
hereafter." 

When  she  was  thirty-three,  having  moved  to.  Lon- 
don for  the  winter,  she  began  her  remarkable  work 
in  Newgate  prison.  The  condition  of  prisoners  was 
pitiable  in  the  extreme.  She  found  three  hundred 
women,  with  their  numerous  children,  huddled  to- 
gether, with  no  classification  between  the  most 
and  least  depraved,  without  employment,  in  rags 
and  dirt,  and  sleeping  on  the  floor  with  no  bed- 
ding, the  boards  simply  being  raised  for  a  sort  of 
pillow.  Liquors  were  purchased  openly  at  a  bar 
in  the  prison  ;  and  swearing,  gambling,  obscenity, 
and  pulling  each  other's  hair  were  common.  The 
walls,  both  in  the  men's  and  women's  departments, 
were  hunor  -vvith  chains  and  fetters. 


250  ELIZABETH  FRY. 

When  Mrs.  Fry  and  two  or  throe  friends  first 
visited  the  prison,  the  superintendent  advised  that 
they  lay  aside  their  watches  before  entering,  wliich 
thev  declined  to  do.  Mrs.  Fry  did  not  fear,  nor 
need  she,  with  her  benign  presence. 

On  her  second  visit  she  asked  to  be  left  alone 
with  the  women,  and  read  to  them  the  tenth  chapter 
of  Matthew,  making  a  few  observations  on  Christ's 
having  come  to  save  sinners.  Some  of  the  women 
asked  who  Christ  was.  Who  shall  forgive  us  for 
such  ignorance  in  our  very  midst? 

The  children  were  almost  naked,  and  ill  from 
want  of  food,  air,  and  exercise.  Mrs.  Fry  told  them 
that  she  would  start  a  school  for  their  children, 
which  announcement  was  received  with  tears  of  jo3\ 
She  asked  that  they  select  one  from  their  own  num- 
ber for  a  governess.  Mary  Conner  was  chosen,  a 
girl  who  had  been  put  in  prison  for  stealing  a  watch. 
So  changed  did  the  girl  become  under  this  new 
responsibility,  that  she  was  never  known  to  infringe 
a  rule  of  the  prison.  After  fifteen  months  she  was 
released,  but  died  soon  after  of  consumption. 

When  the  school  was  opened  for  all  under  twenty- 
five,  "  the  railing  was  crowded  with  half -naked 
women,  struggling  together  for  the  front  situations, 
with  the  most  boisterous  violence,  and  begging  with 
the  utmost  vociferation." 

Mrs.  Fry  saw  at  once  the  need  of  these  women 
being  occupied,  but  the  idea  that  these  people  could 
be  induced  to  work  was  laughed  at,  as  visionary,  by 


ELIZABETH  FRY.  251 

the  officials.  Thej'  said  the  work  would  be  destrov.'d 
or  stolen  at  once.  But  the  good  woman  did  not  rest 
till  an  association  of  twelve  persons  was  formed  for 
the  •'  Improvement  of  the  Female  Prisoners  of  Xew- 
gate  "  ;  ■  ^  to  provide  for  the  clothing,  the  instruction, 
and  the  employment  of  the  women  ;  to  introduce 
them  to  a  knowledge  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  ;  and  to 
form  in  them,  as  much  as  possible,  those  habits  of 
order,  sobriety,  and  industry,  which  may  render 
tiiem  docile  and  peaceable  whilst  in  prison,  and 
respectable  when  the3'  leave  it." 

It  was  decided  that  Botany  Bay  could  be  supplied 
with  stockings,  and  indeed  with  all  the  articles 
needed  by  convicts,  through  the  work  of  these 
women.  A  room  was  at  once  made  ready,  and 
matrons  were  appointed.  A  portion  of  the  earr.ings 
was  to  lie  given  the  women  for  themselves  and  their 
children.  In  ten  months  the}'  made  twenty  thousand 
articles  of  wearing  apparel,  and  knit  from  sixty  to 
one  hundred  pairs  of  stockings  every  month.  The 
Bible  was  read  to  them  twice  each  day.  They 
received  marks  for  good  behavior,  and  were  as 
[)k'ased  as  children  with  the  small  prizes  given 
them. 

One  of  the  girls  who  received  a  prize  of  clothing 
came  to  Mrs.  Fr}-,  and  "hoped  she  would  excuse  her 
for  being  so  forward,  but  if  she  might  say  it,  she 
felt  exceedingly  disappointed  ;  she  little  thought  of 
having  clothing  given  to  her,  but  she  had  hoped  I 
would  have  given  her  a  Bible,  that  she  might  read 
the  Scriptures  herself." 


252  ELIZABETH  FRY. 

No  woman  was  ever  punished  under  Mrs.  Fry's 
management.  The}^  said,  '•  it  would  be  more  ter- 
rible to  be  brought  up  before  her  than  before  the 
judge.''  AVhen  she  told  them  she  hoped  they  would 
not  play  cards,  five  packs  were  at  once  brought  to 
her  and  burned. 

The  place  was  now  so  orderly  and  quiet,  that 
"Newgate  had  become  almost  a  show;  the  states- 
man and  the  noble,  the  city  functionary  and  the 
foreign  traveller,  the  high-bred  gentlewoman,  the 
clergyman  and  the  dissenting  minister,  flocked  to 
witness  the  extraordinary  change,"  and  to  listen  to 
Mrs.  Fry's  beautiful  Bible  readings. 

Letters  poured  in  from  all  parts  of  the  country, 
asking  her  to  come  to  their  prisons  for  a  similar 
work,  or  to  teach  others  how  to  work.  A  committee 
of  the  House  of  Commons  summoned  her  before 
them  to  learn  her  suggestions,  and  to  hear  of  her 
methods  ;  and  later  the  House  of  Lords. 

Of  course  the  name  of  Elizabeth  Fry  became 
known  everywhere.  Queen  Victoria  gave  her  audi- 
ence, and  when  she  appeared  in  public,  ever3'body 
was  eager  to  look  at  her.  The  newspapers  spoke  of 
her  in  the  highest  praise.  Yet  with  a  beautiful  spirit 
she  writes  in  her  journal,  "  I  am  read}'  to  say  in  the 
fulness  of  my  heart,  surely  '  it  is  the  Lord's  doing, 
and  marvellous  in  our  eyes'  ;  so  many  are  the  provi- 
dential openings  of  various  kinds.  Oh !  if  good 
should  result,  may  the  praise  and  glory  of  the  whole 
be  entirely  given  where  it  is  due  by  us,  and  by  all, 
in  deep  humiliation  and  prostration  of  spirit." 


ELIZABETH  FRY.  253 

Mrs.  Fry's  heart  was  constantly  burdened  with 
the  scenes  she  witnessed.  The  penal  kws  were  a 
caricature  on  justice.  Men  and  women  were  hanged 
for  tlieft,  forgery,  passing  counterfeit  money,  and 
for  ahnost  every  kind  of  fraud.  One  young  woman, 
with  a  babe  in  her  arms,  was  hano;ed  for  stealino; 
a  piece  of  cloth  worth  one  dollar  and  twenty-five 
cents  !  Another  was  hanged  for  taking  food  to  keep 
herself  and  little  child  from  starving.  It  was  no 
uncommon  thing  to  see  women  hanging  from  the 
gibbet  at  Newgate,  because  they  had  passed  a  forged 
one-pound  note  (five  dollars). 

George  Cruikshank  in  1818  was  so  moved  at  one 
of  these  executions  that  he  made  a  picture  which 
represented  eight  men  and  three  women  hanging 
from  the  gallows,  and  a  rope  coiled  around  the  faces 
of  twelve  others.  Across  the  picture  were  the 
words,  "  I  promise  to  perform  during  the  issue  of 
Bank-notes  easily  imitated  .  .  .  for  the  Governors 
and  Company  of  the  Bank  of  England." 

He  called  the  picture  a  "Bank-note,  not  to  be 
imitated."  It  at  once  created  a  great  sensation. 
Crowds  blocked  the  street  in  front  of  the  shop  where 
it  was  hung.  The  pictures  were  in  such  demand 
that  Cruikshank  sat  up  all  night  to  etch  another 
plate.  The  Gurneys,  Wilberforce,  Sir  Samuel  Rom- 
illy,  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  all  worked  vigorously 
against  capital  punishment,  save,  possibly,  for 
murder. 

Among  those  who  were  to  be  executed  was  Har- 


254  ELIZABETH  FEY. 

rlet  vSkelton,  who,  for  the  man  she  loved,  had 
passed  forged  notes.  She  was  singularly  open  in 
face  and  manner,  confiding,  and  well-behaved. 
When  she  was  condemned  to  death,  it  was  a  sur- 
prise and  horror  to  all  who  knew  her.  Mrs.  Fry 
was  deeply  interested.  Noblemen  went  to  see  her 
in  her  damp,  dark  cell,  which  was  guarded  by  a 
heavy  iron  door.  The  Duke  of  Gloucester  went 
with  Mrs.  Fry  to  the  Directors  of  the  Bank  of 
England,  and  to  Lord  Sidmouth,  to  plead  for  her, 
but  their  hearts  were  not  to  be  moved,  and  the  poor 
young  girl  was  hanged.  The  public  was  enthusias- 
tic in  its  applause  for  Mrs.  Fry,  and  unsparing  in 
its  denunciation  of  Sidmouth.  At  last  the  obnox- 
ious laws  were  changed. 

Mrs.  Fry  was  heartily  opposed  to  capital  punish- 
ment. She  said,  "  It  hardens  the  hearts  of  men, 
and  makes  the  loss  of  life  appear  light  to  them  "  ; 
it  does  not  lead  to  reformation,  and  "  does  not  deter 
others  from  crime,  because  the  crimes  subject  to 
capital  punishment  are  gradually  increasing." 

When  the  world  is  more  civilized  than  it  is  to-day, 
when  we  have  closed  the  open  saloon,  that  is  the 
direct  cause  of  nearly  all  the  murders,  then  we  shall 
probably  do  awa}^  with  hanging ;  or,  if  men  and 
women  must  be  killed  for  the  safety  of  society,  a 
thing  not  easily  proven,  it  will  be  done  in  the  most 
humane  manner,  by  chloroform. 

Mrs.  Fry  was  likewise  strongh'  opposed  to  soli- 
tar}^  confinement,  which  usually  makes  the  subject  a 


ELIZABETH  FRY.  255 

mental  wreck,  and,  as  regards  moral  action,  an 
imbecile.  How  wonderfully  in  advance  of  her  age 
was  this  gifted  woman  ! 

Mrs.  Fry's  thoughts  now  turned  to  another  evil. 
When  the  women  prisoners  were  transported  to  New 
South  Wales,  they  were  carried  to  the  ships  in  open 
carts,  the  crowd  jeering.  She  prevailed  upon  gov- 
ernment to  have  them  carried  in  coaches,  and  prom- 
ised that  she  w^ould  go  with  them.  When  on  board 
the  ship,  she  knelt  on  the  deck  and  prayed  with 
them  as  they  were  going  into  banishment,  and  then 
bade  them  a  tender  good  hy.  Truly  woman  can  l)e 
an  angel  of  light. 

Says  Captain  Martin,  "Who  could  resist  this 
beautiful,  persuasive,  and  heavenly-minded  woman? 
To  see  her  was  to  love  her ;  to  hear  her  was  to  feel 
as  if  a  guardian  angel  had  bid  you  follow  that  teach- 
ing which  could  alone  subdue  the  temptations  and 
evils  of  this  life,  and  secure  a  Redeemer's  love  in 
eternity." 

At  this  time  Mrs.  Frv  and  her  brother  Joseph 
visited  Scotland  and  the  north  of  England  to  ascer- 
tain the  condition  of  the  prisons.  They  found 
much  that  was  inhuman  ;  insane  persons  in  prison, 
eighteen  months  in  dungeons !  Debtors  confined 
night  and  day  in  dark,  filth}'  cells,  and  never  leav- 
ing them  ;  men  chained  to  the  walls  of  their  cells, 
or  to  rings  in  the  floor,  or  with  their  limbs  stretched 
apart  till  the}'  fainted  in  agony  ;  women  with  chains 
on   hands,  and  feet,  and  body,  while   they  slept  on 


256  ELIZABETH  FRY. 

bundles  of  straw.  Ou  their  return  a  book  was  pub- 
lished, which  did  much  to  arouse  England. 

Mrs.  Fry  was  not  j-et  forty,  but  her  work  was 
known  round  the  world.  The  authorities  of  Russia, 
at  the  desire  of  the  Empress,  wrote  Mrs.  Fry  as  to 
the  best  plans  for  the  St.  Petersburg  lunatic  asylum 
and  treatment  of  the  inmates,  and  her  suggestions 
were  carried  out  to  the  letter. 

Letters  came  from  Amsterdam,  Denmark,  Paris, 
and  elsewhere,  asking  counsel.  The  correspon- 
dence became  so  great  that  two  of  her  daughters 
were  obliged  to  attend  to  it. 

Again  she  travelled  all  over  England,  forming 
"  Ladies'  Prison  Associations,"  which  should  not 
only  look  after  the  inmates  of  prisons,  but  aid  them 
to  obtain  work  when  they  were  discharged,  or  "  so 
provide  for  them  that  stealing  should  not  seem  a 
necessity." 

About  this  time,  1828,  one  of  the  houses  in 
which  her  husband  was  a  partner  failed,  "  which 
involved  Elizabeth  Fry  and  her  family  in  a  train  of 
sorrows  and  perplexities  which  tinged  the  remaining 
years  of  her  life." 

They  sold  the  house  at  Plashet,  and  moved  again 
to  Mildred  Court,  now  the  home  of  one  of  their  sons. 
Her  wealthy  brothers  and  her  children  soon  re-es- 
tablished the  parents  in  comfort. 

She  now  became  deeply  interested  in  the  five 
hundred  Coast-Guard  stations  in  the  United  King- 
dom, where  the  men  and  their  families  led  a  lonely 


ELIZABETH  FRY.  257 

life.  Partly  by  private  contributions  and  partly- 
through  the  aid  of  government,  she  obtained  enough 
money  to  buy  more  than  twenty-five  thousand  vol- 
umes for  libraries  at  these  stations.  Tlie  letters  of 
gratitude  were  a  sufficient  reward  for  the  hard  work. 
She  also  obtained  small  libraries  for  all  the  packets 
that  sailed  from  Falmouth. 

In  1837,  with  some  friends,  she  visited  Paris, 
making  a  detailed  examination  of  its  prisons.  Gui- 
zot  entertained  her,  the  Duchess  de  Broglie,  M.  de 
Pressense,  and  others  paid  her  much  attention. 
The  King  and  Queen  sent  for  her,  and  had  an  earn- 
est talk.  At  Nismes,  where  there  were  twelve  hun- 
dred prisoners,  she  visited  the  cells,  and  when  five 
armed  soldiers  wished  to  protect  her  and  her 
friends,  she  requested  that  they  be  allowed  to  go 
without  guard.  In  one  dungeon  she  found  two  men, 
chained  hand  and  foot.  She  told  them  she  would 
plead  for  their  liberation  if  they  would  promise  good 
behavior.  They  promised,  and  kept  it,  praying 
every  night  for  their  benefactor  thereafter.  When 
she  held  a  meeting  in  the  prison,  hundreds  shed 
tears,  and  the  good  effects  of  her  work  were  visible 
long  after. 

The  next  journey  was  made  to  Germany.  At 
Brussels,  the  King  held  out  both  hands  to  receive 
her.  In  Denmark,  the  King  and  Queen  invited  her 
to  dine,  and  she  sat  between  them.  At  Berlin,  the 
royal  family  treated  her  like  a  sister,  and  all  stood 
about  her  while  she  knelt  and  prayed  for  them. 


258  ELIZABETH  FRY, 

The  new  penitentiaries  were  built  after  her  sug- 
gestions, so  perfect  was  thought  to  be  her  system. 
The  royal  family  never  forget  her.  When  the  King 
of  Prussia  visited  England,  to  stand  sponsor  for  the 
infant  Prince  of  Wales,  in  1842,  he  dined  with  her 
at  her  home.  She  presented  to  him  her  eight 
daughters  and  daughters-in-law,  her  seven  sons  and 
eldest  grandson,  and  then  their  twentj^-five  grand- 
children. 

Finally,  the  great  meetings,  and  the  earnest 
plans,  with  their  wonderful  execution,  were  coming 
to  an  end  for  Elizabeth  Fry. 

There  liad  been  many  breaks  in  the  home  circle. 
Her  beloved  son  William,  and  his  two  children,  had 
just  died.  Some  years  before  she  had  buried  a 
very  precious  child,  Elizabeth,  at  the  age  of  five, 
who  shortly  before  her  death  said,  "Mamma,  I 
love  everybody  better  than  myself,  and  I  love  thee 
better  than  everybody,  and  I  love  Almighty  much 
better  than  thee,  and  I  hope  thee  loves  Almighty- 
much  better  than  me."  This  was  a  severe  stroke, 
Mrs.  Fry  saying,  "My  much-loved  husband  and  I 
have  drank  this  cup  together,  in  close  sympathy 
and  unity  of  feeling.  It  has  at  times  been  very 
bitter  to  us  both,  but  we  have  been  in  measure  each 
other's  joy  and  helpers  in  the  Lord." 

During  her  last  sickness  she  said,  "  I  believe  this 
is  not  death,  but  it  is  as  passing  through  the  valley 
of  the  shadow  of  death,  and  perhaps  with  more 
suffering,  from  more  sensitiveness  ;    but  the  '  rock 


ELIZABETH  FRY.  259 

is  here ' ;  the  distress  is  awful,  but  He  has  been 
with  me." 

The  last  moruing  came,  Oct.  13,  1845.  About 
nine  o'clock,  one  of  her  daughters,  sitting  b}^  her 
bedside,  read  from  Isaiah:  "I,  the  Lord  thy  God, 
will  hold  thy  right  hand,  saying  unto  thee.  Fear  not, 
thou  worm  of  Jacob,  and  ye  men  of  Israel,  I  will 
help  thee,  saith  the  Lord,  and  thy  Redeemer,  the 
Holy  One  of  Israel."  The  mother  said  slowly, 
"  Oh  !  my  dear  Lord,  help  and  keep  thy  servant !  " 
and  never  spoke  afterward. 

She  was  buried  in  the  Friends'  burying-ground  at 
Barking,  by  the  side  of  her  Uttle  Elizabeth,  a  deep 
silence  prevailing  among  the  multitudes  gathered 
there,  broken  only  by  the  solemn  prayer  of  her 
brother,  Joseph  John  Gurney. 

Thus  closed  one  of  the  most  beautiful  lives  among 
women.  To  the  last  she  was  doing  good  deeds. 
When  she  was  wheeled  along  the  beach  in  her  chair, 
she  gave  books  and  counsel  to  the  passers-by. 
When  she  stayed  at  hotels,  she  usually  arranged  a 
meeting  for  the  servants.  She  was  sent  for,  from 
far  and  near,  to  pray  with  the  sick,  and  comfort  the 
dying,  who  often  begged  to  kiss  her  hand  ;  no  home 
was  too  desolate  for  her  lovely  and  cheerful  pres- 
ence. No  wonder  Alexander  of  Russia  called  her 
"•  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  age." 

Her  only  surviving  son  gives  this  interesting  testi- 
mony of  her  home  life:  "I  never  recollect  seeing 
her  out  of  temper  or  hearing   her  speak  a  harsh 


260  ELIZABETH  FRY. 

word,  yet  still  her  word  was  law,  but  always  the 
law  of  love." 

Naturally  timid,  always  in  frail  health,  sometimes 
misunderstood,  even  with  the  highest  motives,  she 
lived  a  heroic  life  in  the  best  sense,  and  died  the 
death  of  a  Christian.  What  grander  sphere  for 
woman  than  such  philanthropy  as  this  !  And  the 
needs  of  humanity  are  as  great  as  ever,  waiting  for 
the  ministration  of  such  noble  souls. 


ELIZABETH   TH0MPS0:N  BUTLER,  261 


ELIZABETH   THOMPSON   BUTLER. 

WHILE  woman  has  not  achieved  such  brilliant 
success  in  art,  perhaps, "aFm  literature,  many 
names  stand  high  on  the  lists.  Early  history  has  its 
noted  women  :  Propersia  di  Rossi,  of  Bologna,  wliose 
romantic  history  Mrs,  Hemaus  has  immortalized  ; 
Elisabetta  Sirani,  painter,  sculptor,  and  engraver  on 
copper,  herself  called  a  "miracle  of  art,"  the  hon- 
ored of  popes  and  princes,  dying  at  twenty-six ; 
Marietta  Tintoretta,  who  was  invited  to  be  the 
artist  at  the  courts  of  emperors  and  kings,  dying  at 
thirty,  leaving  her  father  inconsolable  ;  Sophonisba 
Lomellini,  invited  by  Philip  II.  of  Spain  to  Madrid, 
to  paint  his  portrait,  and  that  of  the  Queen,  con- 
cerning whom,  though  blind,  Vandyck  said  he  had 
received  more  instruction  from  a  blind  woman  than 
from  all  his  study  of  the  old  masters  ;  and  many 
more. 

The  first  woman  artist  in  England  was  Susannah 
Hornebolt,  daughter  of  the  principal  painter  who 
immediately  preceded  Hans  Holbein,  Gerard  Horne- 
bolt, a  native  of  Ghent.  Albrecht  Diirer  said  of 
her,  in  1521  :  "  She  has  made  a  colored  drawing  of 
our  Saviour,  for  which  I  gave   her  a   florin   [forty 


262  ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLER. 

cents].  It  is  wonderful  that  a  female  should  be 
able  to  do  such  work."  Her  brother  Luke  received 
a  larger  salary  from  King  Henry  VIII.  than  he  ever 
gave  to  Holbein,  —  $13.87  per  mouth.  Susannah 
married  an  English  sculptor,  named  Whorstly,  and 
lived  man}'  years  in  great  honor  and  esteem  with  all 
the  court. 

Arts  flourished  under  Charles  I.  To  Yandyck 
and  Anne  Carlisle  he  gave  ultra-marine  to  tlie  value 
of  twenty-five  hundred  dollars.  Artemisia  Genti- 
leschi,  from  Rome,  realized  a  splendid  income  from 
her  work  ;  and,  although  forty-five  years  old  when 
she  came  to  England,  she  was  greatly  admired,  and 
history  says  made  man}'  conquests.  This  may  be 
possible,  as  George  IV.  said  a  woman  never  reaches 
her  highest  powers  of  fascination  till  she  is  forty. 
Guido  was  her  instructor,  aud  one  of  her  warmest 
eulogizers.  She  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Domeni- 
cliino  and  of  Guercino,  who  gave  all  his  wealth  to 
philanthropies,  and  when  in  England  was  the  warm 
friend  of  Vandyck.  Some  of  her  works  are  in  the 
Pitti  Palace,  at  Florence,  and  some  at  Madrid,  in 
Spain. 

Of  Maria  Varelst,  the  historical  painter,  the  fol- 
lowing story  is  told  :  At  the  theatre  she  sat  next  to 
six  German  gentlemen  of  high  rank,  who  were  so 
impressed  with  her  beauty  and  manner  that  they 
expressed  great  admiration  for  her  among  each 
other.  The  young  lady  spoke  to  them  in  German, 
saying  that  such  extravagant  praise  in  the  presence 


ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLEB.  263 

of  a  lady  was  no  real  complimeDt.  One  of  the 
party  immediately  repeated  what  he  had  said  in 
Latin.  She  replied  in  the  same  tongue  "that  it 
was  unjust  to  endeavor  to  deprive  the  fair  sex  of 
the  knowledge  of  that  tongue  which  was  the  vehicle 
of  true  learning."  The  gentlemen  begged  to  call 
upon  her.  Each  sat  for  his  portrait,  and  she  was 
thus  brought  into  great  prominence. 

The  artist  around  whose  beauty  and  talent  romance 
adds  a  special  charm,  was  Angelica  Kauffman,  the 
only  child  of  Joseph  Kauffman,  born  near  Lake 
Constance,  about  1741.  At  nine  3'ears  of  age  she 
made  wonderful  pastel  pictures.  Removing  to  Lom- 
bardy,  it  is  asserted  that  her  father  dressed  her  in 
bo^^'s  clothing,  and  smuggled  her  into  the  academy, 
that  she  might  be  improved  in  drawing.  At  eleven 
she  went  to  Como,  where  the  charming  scenery  had 
a  great  impression  upon  the  young  girl.  No  one 
who  wishes  to  grow  in  taste  and  art  can  afford  to 
live  away  from  nature's  best  work.  The  Bishop  of 
Como  became  interested  in  her,  and  asked  her  to 
paint  his  portrait.  This  was  well  done  in  crayon, 
and  soon  the  wealthy  patronized  her.  Years  after, 
she  wrote  :  "  Como  is  ever  in  my  thoughts.  It  was 
at  Como,  in  my  most  happy  youth,  that  I  tasted  the 
first  real  enjoyment  of  life." 

"When  she  went  to  ^lilan,  to  study  the  great  mas- 
ters, the  Duke  of  Modena  was  attracted  by  her 
beauty  and  devotion  to  her  work.  He  introduced 
her  to  the  Duchess  of  Massa  Carrara,  whose  portrait 


2G4  ELIZABETH  TIIOMPSOK  BUTLER. 

she  painted,  as  also  that  of  the  Austrian  governor, 
and  soon  those  of  niau}^  of  the  nobility.  When  all 
seemed  at  its  brightest,  her  mother,  one  of  the  best 
of  women,  died.  Her  father,  broken-hearted,  ac- 
cepted the  offer  to  decorate  the  church  of  his  native 
town,  and  Angelica  joined  him  in  the  frescoing. 
After  much  hard  work,  they  returned  to  Milan.  The 
constant  work  had  worn  on  the  delicate  girl.  She 
gave  herself  no  time  for  rest.  When  not  painting, 
she  was  making  chalk  and  crayon  drawings,  master- 
ing the  harpsichord,  or  lost  in  the  pages  of  French, 
German,  or  Italian.  For  a  time  she  thought  of 
becoming  a  singer ;  but  finall}'  gave  herself  wholly 
to  art.  After  this  she  went  to  Florence,  where  she 
worked  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  and  in  the  evening 
at  her  cra^^ons.  In  Rome,  with  her  youth,  beauty, 
fascinating  manners,  and  varied  reading,  she  gained 
a  wide  circle  of  friends.  Her  face  v/as  a  Greek 
oval,  her  complexion  fresh  and  clear,  her  eyes  deep 
blue,  her  mouth  pretty  and  always  smihng.  She 
was  accused  of  being  a  coquette,  and  quite  likely 
was  such. 

For  three  months  she  painted  in  the  Ro3'al  Gallery 
at  Naples,  and  then  returned  to  Rome  to  study  the 
works  of  Raphael  and  Michael  Angeio.  From 
thence  she  went  to  Bologna  and  beautiful  Venice. 
Here  she  met  Lady  Wentworth,  who  took  her  to 
London,  where  she  was  introduced  at  once  to  the 
highest  circles.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  had  the  great- 
est admiration  for  her,   and,  indeed,   was  said  to 


ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLER.  2G5 

have  offered  her  his  hand  and  heart.  The  whole 
world  of  art  and  letters  united  in  her  praise.  Often 
she  found  laudatory  verses  pinned  on  her  canvas. 
The  great  people  of  the  land  crowded  her  studio  for 
sittings.  She  lived  in  Golden  Square,  now  a  rather 
dilapidated  place  back  of  Regent  Street.  She  was 
called  the  most  fascinating  woman  in  England.  Sir 
Joshua  painted  her  as  "Design  Listening  to  Poetr}-," 
and  she,  in  turn,  painted  him.  She  was  the  pet  of 
Buckingham  House  and  Windsor  Castle. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  unlimited  attention,  a  man 
calling  himself  the  Swedish  Count,  Frederic  de  Horn, 
with  fine  manners  and  handsome  person,  offered 
himself  to  Angelica.  He  represented  that  he  was 
calumniated  by  his  enemies  and  that  the  Swedish 
Government  was  about  to  demand  his  person.  He 
assured  her,  if  she  were  his  wife,  she  could  intercede 
with  the  Queen  and  save  him.  She  blindly  con- 
sented to  the  marriage,  privately.  At  last,  she 
confessed  it  to  her  father,  who  took  steps  at  once  to 
see  if  the  man  were  true,  and  found  that  he  was  the 
vilest  impostor.  He  had  a  young  wife  already  in 
Germany,  and  would  have  been  condemned  to  a 
felon's  death  if  Angelica  had  been  willing.  She 
said,  "He  has  betrayed  me;  but  God  will  judge 
him." 

She  received  several  offers  of  maiTiage  after  this, 
but  would  accept  no  one.  Years  after,  when  her 
father,  to  whom  she  was  deeply  devoted,  was  about 
to  die,  he  prevailed  upon  her  to  marry  a  friend  of 


266  ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLER. 

his,  Antonio  Zuccbi,  thirteen  years  her  senior,  with 
whom  she  went  to  Rome,  and  there  died.  He  was 
a  man  of  abilit}-,  and  perhaps  made  her  life  happy. 
At  her  burial,  one  hundred  priests  accompanied  the 
coffin,  the  pall  being  held  b}^  four  young  girls, 
dressed  in  white,  the  four  tassels  held  by  four  mem- 
bers of  the  Academy.  Two  of  her  pictures  were 
carried  in  triumph  immediately  after  her  coffin. 
Then  followed  a  grand  procession  of  illustrious  per- 
sons, each  bearing  a  lighted  taper. 

Goethe  was  one  of  her  chosen  friends.  He  said 
of  her:  "She  has  a  most  remarkable  and,  for  a 
woman,  really  an  unheard-of  talent.  No  living 
painter  excels  her  in  dignity,  or  in  the  delicate  taste 
with  which  she  handles  the  pencil." 

Miss  Ellen  C.  Clayton,  in  her  interesting  volumes, 
English  Female  Artists,  says,  "No  lady  artist,  from 
the  days  of  Angelica  Kauffman,  ever  created  such  a 
vivid  interest  as  Elizabeth  Thompson  Butler.  None 
had  ever  stepped  into  the  front  rank  in  so  short  a 
time,  or  had  in  England  ever  attained  high  celebrity 
at  so  early  an  age." 

She  was  born  in  the  Villa  Clermont,  Lausanne, 
Switzerland,  a  country  beautiful  enough  to  inspire 
artistic  sentiments  in  all  its  inhabitants.  Her  father, 
Thomas  James  Thompson,  a  man  of  great  culture 
and  refinement,  educated  at  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge, was  a  warm  friend  of  Charles  Dickens,  Lord 
Lytton,  and  their  literary  associates.  Somewhat 
frail  in  health,  he  travelled  much  of  the  time,  col- 


ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLER.  267 

lecting  pictures,  of  which  he  was  extremely  food, 
and  studying  with  the  eye  of  an  artist  the  beauties 
of  each  country,  whether  America,  Italy,  or  France. 

His  first  wife  died  early,  leaving  one  son  and 
daughter.  The  second  wife  was  an  enthusiastic, 
artistic  girl,  especially  musical,  a  friend  of  Dickens, 
and  every  way  fitted  to  be  the  intelligent  companion 
of  her  husband. 

After  the  birth  of  Elizabeth,  the  family  resided 
in  various  parts  of  Southern  Europe.  Now  they 
lived,  says  Mrs.  Alice  Meynell,  her  only  sister,  in 
the  January,  1883,  St.  Nicholas^  "  within  sight  of 
the  snow-capped  peaks  of  the  Apennines,  in  an  old 
palace,  the  Villa  de  Franchi,  immediately  overlooking 
the  Mediterranean,  with  olive-clad  hills  at  the  back ; 
on  the  left,  the  great  promontory  of  Porto  Fino  ;  on 
the  right,  the  Bay  of  Genoa,  some  twelve  miles 
away,  and  the  long  line  of  the  Apennines  sloping 
down  into  the  sea.  The  palace  garden  descended, 
terrace  by  terrace,  to  the  rocks,  being,  indeed,  less 
a  garden  than  what  is  called  a  villa  in  the  Liguria, 
and  a  jjodere  in  Tuscany,  —  a  fascinating  mixture  of 
vine,  olive,  maize,  flowers,  and  corn.  A  fountain  in 
marble,  lined  with  maiden-hair,  played  at  the  j mic- 
tion of  each  flight  of  steps.  A  great  billiard-room 
on  the  first  floor,  hung  with  Chinese  designs,  was 
Elizabeth  Thompson's  first  school-room  ;  and  there 
Charles  Dickens,  upon  one  of  his  Italian  visits,  burst 
in  upon  a  lesson  in  multiplication. 

"  The  two  children  never  went  to  school,  and  had 


268  ELIZABETH  THOMPSOX  BUTLER. 

no  other  teacher  than  their  father,  —  except  their 
mother  for  music,  and  the  usual  professors  for 
'  accompUshments  *  iu  later  years.  And  whether 
living  liappil}'  in  their  beautiful  Genoese  home,  or 
farther  north  among  the  picturesque  Italian  lakes,  or 
in  Switzerland,  or  among  the  Kentish  hop-gardens 
and  the  parks  of  Surrey,  Elizabeth's  one  central 
occupation  of  drawing  was  never  abandoned, — lit- 
erally not  for  a  day." 

She  was  a  close  observer  of  nature,  and  especially 
fond  of  animals.  When  not  out  of  doors  sketching 
landscapes,  she  would  sit  in  the  house  and  draw, 
while  her  father  read  to  her,  as  he  believed  the  two 
things  could  be  carried  on  beneficially. 

She  loved  to  draw  horses  running,  soldiers,  and 
everything  which  showed  animation  and  energy. 
Her  educated  parents  had  the  good  sense  not  to 
curb  her  in  these  perhaps  unusual  tastes  for  a  girl. 
They  saw  the  sure  hand  and  broad  thought  of  their 
child,  and,  no  doubt,  had  expectations  of  her  future 
fame. 

At  fifteen,  as  the  family  had  removed  to  England, 
Elizabeth  joined  the  South  Kensington  School  of 
Design,  and,  later,  took  lessons  in  oil  painting,  for 
a  year,  of  Mr.  Standish.  Thus  from  the  years  of 
five  to  sixteen  she  had  studied  drawing  carefully,  so 
that  now  she  was  ready  to  touch  oil  painting  for  the 
first  time.  How  few  young  ladies  would  have  been 
willing  to  study  drawing  for  eleven  years,  before 
trying  to  paint  in  oil ! 


ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLEli.  2G9 

The  Thompson  family  now  moved  to  Yentnor,  in 
the  Isle  of  Wight,  staying  for  three  years  at  Bon- 
church,  one  of  the  loveliest  places  in  the  world.  Ivy 
grows  over  walls  and  houses,  roses  and  clematis 
bloom  luxuriantly,  and  the  balmy  air  and  beautiful 
sea  make  the  place  as  restful  as  it  is  beautiful. 
Here  Elizabeth  received  lessons  in  water-color  and 
landscape  from  Mr.  Gray. 

After  another  visit  abroad  the  family  returned  to 
London,  and  tlie  artist  daughter  attended  the 
National  Art  School  at  South  Kensiugton,  studying 
in  the  life-class.  The  head  master,  Mr.  Richard 
Burchett,  saw  her  talent,  and  helped  her  in  all  ways 
possible. 

Naturally  anxious  to  test  the  world's  opinion  of 
her  work,  she  sent  some  water-colors  to  the  Society 
of  British  Artists  for  exhibition,  and  they  were 
rejected.  There  is  very  little  encouragement  for 
beginners  in  any  profession.  However,  "Bavarian 
Artillery  going  into  Action  "  was  exhibited  at  the 
Dudley  Gallery,  and  received  favorable  notice  from 
Mr.  Tom  Taylor,  art  critic  of  the  Times. 

Between  two  long  courses  at  South  Kensington 
Elizabeth  spent  a  summer  in  Florence  and  a  winter 
at  Rome,  studying  in  both  places.  At  Florence  she 
entered  the  studio  of  Signor  Guiseppe  Bellucci,  an 
eminent  historical  painter  and  consummate  draughts- 
man, a  fellow-student  of  Sir  Frederick  Leighton  at 
the  Academy. 

Here  the  sirlish  student  was  intenselv  interested 


270  ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLER. 

in  her  work.  She  rose  early,  before  the  other  mem- 
bers of  the  family,  taking  her  breakfast  alone,  that 
she  might  hasten  to  her  beloved  labor.  "On  the 
day  when  she  did  not  work  with  him,"  says  Mrs. 
Meynell,  "  she  copied  passages  from  the  frescoes  in 
the  cloisters  of  the  Annunziata,  masterpieces  of 
Andrea  del  Sarto  and  Franciabigio,  making  a  special 
study  of  the  drapery  of  the  last-named  painter. 
The  sacristans  of  the  old  church  —  the  most  popular 
church  in  Florence  — knew  and  welcomed  the  young 
English  girl,  who  sat  for  hours  so  intently  at  her 
work  in  the  cloister,  unheeding  the  coming  and 
going  of  the  long  procession  of  congregations  pass- 
ing through  the  gates. 

"Her  studies  in  the  galleries  were  also  full  of 
delight  and  profit,  though  she  made  no  other  copies, 
and  she  was  wont  to  say  that  of  all  the  influences 
of  the  Florentine  school  which  stood  her  in  good 
stead  in  her  after-work,  that  of  Andrea  del  Sarto 
was  the  most  valuable  and  the  most  important.  The 
intense  heat  of  a  midsummer,  which,  day  after  day, 
showed  a  hundred  degrees  Fahrenheit  in  the  shade, 
could  not  make  her  relax  work,  and  her  master, 
Florentine  as  he  was,  was  obliged  to  beg  her  to 
spare  him,  at  least  for  a  week,  if  she  would  not 
spare  herself.  It  was  toward  the  end  of  October 
that  artist  and  pupil  parted,  his  confidence  in  her 
future  beino^  as  unbounded  as  her  o-ratitude  for  his 
admirable  skill  and  minute  carefulness." 

During  her  seven  months  in  Rome  she  painted, 


ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLER.  271 

ill  1870,  for  an  ecclesiastical  art  exhibition,  opened 
by  Pope  Pius  IX.,  in  tlie  cloisters  of  the  Carthusian 
Monastery,  the  "  Visitation  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  to 
St.  Elizabeth,"  and  the  picture  gained  honorable 
mention. 

On  her  return  to  England  the  painting  was  offered 
to  the  Royal  Academy  and  rejected.  And  what  was 
worse  still,  a  large  hole  had  been  torn  in  the  canvas, 
in  the  sky  of  the  picture.  Had  she  not  been  very 
persevering,  and  believed  in  her  heart  that  she  had 
talent,  perhaps  she  would  not  have  dared  to  try 
again,  but  she  had  worked  steadily  for  too  many 
years  to  fail  now.  Those  only  win  who  can  bear 
refusal  a  thousand  times  if  need  be. 

The  next  year,  being  at  the  Isle  of  Wight,  she 
sent  another  picture  to  the  Academy,  and  it  was 
rejected.  Merit  does  not  always  win  the  first,  nor 
'the  second,  nor  the  third  time.  It  must  have  been 
a  little  consolation  to  Elizabeth  Thompson,  to  know 
that  each  year  the  judges  were  reminded  that  a  per- 
son by  that  name  lived,  and  was  painting  pictures  ! 

The  next  year  a  subject  from  the  Franco-Prussian 
War  was  taken,  as  that  was  fresh  in  the  minds  of 
the  people.  The  title  was  "Missing."  "Two 
French  officers,  old  and  young,  both  wounded,  and 
with  one  wounded  horse  between  them,  have  lost 
their  way  after  a  disastrous  defeat ;  their  names  will 
appear  in  the  sad  roll  as  missing,  and  the  manner  of 
their  death  will  never  be  known." 

The  picture  was  received,  but  was  "  skyed."  that 


272  ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLER. 

is,  placed  so  high  that  nobody  could  well  see  it. 
During  this  year  she  received  a  commission  from  a 
wealthy  art  patron  to  paint  a  picture.  What  should 
it  be?  A  battle  scene,  because  into  that  she  could 
put  her  heart. 

A  studio  was  taken  in  London,  and  the  "Roll- 
Cull  "  (calling  the  roll  after  an  engagement,  — 
Crimea)  was  begun.  She  put  life  into  the  faces 
and  the  attitudes  of  tlie  men,  as  she  worked  with 
eager  heart  and  careful  labor.  In  the  spring  of 
1874  it  was  sent  to  the  Royal  Academy,  with,  we 
may  suppose,  not  very  enthusiastic  hopes. 

The  stirring  battle  piece  pleased  the  committee, 
and  they  cheered  when  it  was  received.  Then  it 
began  to  be  talked  at  the  clubs  that  a  woman  had 
painted  a  battle  scene  !  Some  had  even  heard  that  it 
was  a  great  picture.  When  the  Academy  banquet  was 
held,  prior  to  the  opening,  the  speeches  of  the  Prince 
of  Wales  and  the  Duke  of  Cambridge,  both  gave 
high  praise  to  the  "  Roll-Call." 

Such  an  honor  was  unusual.  Everybody  was 
eager  to  see  the  painting.  It  was  the  talk  at  the 
clubs,  on  the  railway  trains,  and  on  the  crowded 
thoroughfares.  All  day  long  crowds  gathered  be- 
fore it,  a  policeman  keeping  guard  over  the  painting, 
that  it  be  not  injured  by  its  eager  admirers.  The 
Queen  sent  for  it,  and  it  was  carried,  for  a  few  hours, 
to  Buckingham  Palace,  for  her  to  gaze  upon.  So 
much  was  she  pleased  that  she  desired  to  purchase 
it,  and  the  person  who  had  ordered  it  gave  way  to 


ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLER.  2/3 

Her  Majesty.  The  copyright  was  bought  for  fifteen 
times  the  original  sum  agreed  upon  as  its  vahie,  and 
a  steel-plate  engraving  made  from  it  at  a  cost  of 
nearly  ten  thousand  dollars.  After  thirty-five  hun- 
dred impressions,  the  plate  was  destroyed,  that  there 
might  be  no  inferior  engravings  of  the  picture.  Tlie 
"  Roll-Call"  was  for  some  time  retained  by  the  Fine 
Art  Society,  where  it  was  seen  by  a  quarter  of  a 
million  persons.  Besides  this,  it  was  shown  in  all 
the  large  towns  of  England.  It  is  now  at  Windsor 
Castle. 

Elizabeth  Thompson  had  become  famous  in  a  day, 
but  she  was  not  elated  over  it ;  for,  young  as  she 
was,  she  did  not  forget  that  she  had  been  working 
diligently  for  twenty  years.  The  newspapers 
teemecTwItirdescriptions  of  her,  and  incidents  of  her 
life,  many  of  which  were,  of  course,  purely  imagina- 
tive. Whenever  she  appeared  in  society,  people 
crowded  to  look  at  her. 

Many  a  head  would  have  been  turned  by  all  this 
praise  ;  not  so  the  well-bred  student.  She  at  once 
set  to  work  on  a  more  difficult  subject,  "  The  Twenty- 
eighth  Regiment  at  Quatre  Bras."  When  this  ap- 
peared, in  1875,  it  drew  an  enormous  crowd.  The 
true  critics  praised  heartily,  but  there  were  some 
persons  who  thought  a  woman  could  not  possibly 
know  about  the  smoke  of  a  battle,  or  liow  men 
would  act  under  fire.  That  she  studied  every  detail 
of  her  work  is  shown  by  Mr.  W.  H.  Davenport 
Adams,  in  his  Woman's  Work  and  Worth. 


274  ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLER. 

"  The  choice  of  subject,"  he  says,  ''  though  some 
people  called  it  a  '  very  shocking  one  for  a  young 
lady,'  engaged  the  sympathy  of  military  men,  and 
she  was  generously  aided  in  obtaining  material 
and  all  kinds  of  data  for  the  work.  Infantry 
officers  sent  her  photographs  of  '  squares.'  But 
these  would  not  do,  the  men  were  not  in  earnest ; 
they  would  kneel  in  such  positions  as  they  found 
easiest  for  themselves  ;  indeed,  but  for  the  help  of 
a  worth}'  sergeant-major,  who  saw  that  each  indi- 
vidual assumed  aud  maintained  the  attitude  proper 
for  the  situation  at  whatever  inconvenience,  the 
artist  could  not  possibly  have  impressed  upon  her 
picture  that  verisimilitude  which  it  now  presents. 

"Through  the  kindness  of  the  authorities,  an 
amount  of  gunpowder  was  expended  at  Chatham,  to 
make  her  see,  as  she  said,  how  '  the  men's  faces 
looked  through  the  smoke,'  that  would  have  justified 
the  criticisms  of  a  rigid  parliamentary  economist. 
Not  satisfied  with  seeing  how  men  looked  in  square, 
she  desired  to  secure  some  faint  idea  of  how  they 
felt  in  square  while  '  receiving  cavalrv.'  And  ac- 
cordingly she  repaired  frequently  to  the  Knights- 
bridge  Barracks,  where  she  would  kneel  to  '  receive' 
the  ridinar-master  and  a  mounted  sergeant  of  the 
Blues,  while  they  thundered  down  upon  her  the  full 
length  of  the  riding-school,  deftly  pulling  up,  of 
course,  to  avoid  accident.  The  fallen  horse  pre- 
sented with  such  truth  and  vigor  in  '  Quatre  Bras ' 
was  drawn  from  a  Russian  horse  belonoino;  to  Hen- 


ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLER.  275 

gler's  Circus,  the  only  one  in  England  that  could  be 
trusted  to  remain  for  a  sufficient  time  in  the  required 
position.  A  sore  trial  of  patience  was  this  to  artist, 
to  model,  to  Mr.  Hengler,  who  held  him  down,  and 
to  the  artist's  father,  who  was  present  as  spectator. 
Finally  the  rye,  —  the  '  particularly  tall  rye '  in 
which,  as  Colonel  Siborne  says,  the  action  was 
fought,  —  was  conscientiously  sought  for,  and  found, 
after  much  trouble,  at  Henly-on-Tharaes." 

I  saw  this  beautiful  and  stirring  picture,  as  well 
as  several  others  of  Mrs.  Butler's,  while  in  England. 
Mr.  Ruskin  says  of  "  Quatre  Bras":  "I  never 
approached  a  picture  with  more  iniquitous  prejudice 
against  it  than  I  did  Miss  Thompson's  ;  partly  be- 
cause I  have  always  said  that  no  woman  could  paint, 
and  secondly,  because  I  thought  what  the  public 
made  such  a  fuss  about  must  be  good  for  nothing. 
But  it  is  Amazon's  work,  this,  no  doubt  of  it,  and 
the  first  fine  pre-raphaelite  picture  of  battle  we  have 
had,  profoundly  interesting,  and  showing  all  manner 
of  illustrative  and  realistic  faculty.  The  sky  is 
most  tenderly  painted,  and  with  the  truest  outline 
of  cloud  of  all  in  the  exhibition  ;  and  the  terrific 
piece  of  gallant  wrath  and  ruin  on  the  extreme  left, 
where  the  cuirassier  is  catching  round  the  neck  of 
his  horse  as  he  falls,  and  the  convulsed  fallen  horse, 
seen  through  the  smoke  below,  is  wrought  through 
all  the  truth  of  its  frantic  passions  with  gradations 
of  color  and  shade  which  I  have  not  seen  the  like 
of  since  Turner's  death." 


27G  ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLER. 

This  year,  1875,  a  figure  from  the  picture,  the 
"  Tenth  Bengal  Lancers  at  Tent-pegging,"  was 
published  c-s  a  supplement  to  the  Christmas  number 
of  London  Graphic^  with  the  title  "  Missed."  In 
1876,  "The  Return  from  Balaklava"  was  painted, 
and  in  1877,  "The  Return  from  Inkerman,"  for 
which  latter  work  the  Fine  Art  Societ}'  paid  her 
fifteen  thousand  dollars. 

This  year,  1877,  on  June  11,  Miss  Thompson  was 
married  to  Major,  now  Colonel,  AVilliam  Francis 
Butler,  K.C.B.  He  was  then  thirtj-nine  years  of 
age,  born  in  Ireland,  educated  in  Dublin,  and  had 
received  many  honors.  He  served  on  the  Red 
River  expedition,  was  sent  on  a  special  mission  to 
the  Saskatchewan  territories  in  1870-71.  and  served 
on  the  Ashantee  expedition  in  1873.  He  has  been 
honorably  mentioned  several  times  in  the  House  of 
Lords  by  the  Field-Marshal-Command ing-in-Chief. 
He  wrote  Tlie  Great  Lone  Land  in  1872,  The  Wild 
North  Land  in  1873,  and  A  Kimfoo  in  1875. 

After  the  marriage  they  spent  much  time  in  Ire- 
land, where  Mrs.  Butler  painted  "  Listed  for  the 
Connaught  Rangers  "  in  1879.  Her  later  works  are 
"  The  Remnant  of  an  Army,"  showing  the  arrival  at 
Jellalabad,  in  1842,  of  Dr.  Brydon,  the  sole  survivor 
of  the  sixteen  thousand  men  under  General  Elphin- 
stone,  in  the  unfortunate  Afghan  campaign ;  the 
"  Scots  Greys  Advancing,"  "  The  Defence  of 
Rorke's  Drift,"  an  incident  of  the  Zulu  War,  painted 
at  the  desire  of  the  Queen  and  some  others. 


ELIZABETH  THOMPSON  BUTLER.  277 

Still  a  young  and  very  attractive  woman,  she  has 
before  her  a  bright  future.  She  will  have  excep- 
tional opportunities  for  battle  studies  in  her  hus- 
band's army  life.  She  will  probably  spend  much 
time  in  Africa,  India,  and  other  places  where  the 
English  arm}'  will  be  stationed.  Her  husband  now 
holds  a  prominent  position  in  Africa. 

In  her  studio,  says  her  sister,  "  the  walls  are 
hung  with  old  uniforms  —  the  tall  shako,  the  little 
coatee,  and  the  stiff  stock  —  which  the  visitor's 
imagination  may  stuff  out  with  the  form  of  the 
British  soldier  as  he  fought  in  the  days  of  Waterloo. 
These  are  objects  of  use,  not  ornament;  so  are  the 
relics  from  the  fields  of  France  in  1871,  and  the 
assegais  and  spears  and  little  sharp  wooden  maces 
from  Zululand." 

Mrs.  Butler  has  perseverance,  faithfulness  in  her 
work,  and  courage.  She  has  won  remarkable  fame, 
but  has  proved  herself  deserving  by  her  constant 
labor,  and  attention  to  details.  Mrs.  Butler's  mother 
has  also  exhibited  some  fine  paintings.  The  artist 
herself  has  illustrated  a  volume  of  poems,  the  work 
of  her  sister,  Mrs.  Meynell.  A  cultivated  and 
artistic  family  have,  of  course,  been  an  invaluable 
aid  in  Mrs.  Butler's  development. 


278  FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE. 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE. 


ONE  of  the  most  interesting  places  iu  tbe  whole 
of  London,  is  St.  Thomas'  Hospital,  an  im- 
mense four-story  structure  of  brick  with  stone  trim- 
mings. Here  is  the  Nightingale  Training  School 
for  nurses,  established  through  the  gift  to  Miss 
Nightingale  of  $250,000  by  the  government,  for  her 
wonderful  work  iu  the  Crimean  War.  She  would 
not  take  a  cent  for  herself,  but  was  glad  to  have  this 
institution  opened,  that  gu'ls  through  her  training 
might  become  valuable  to  the  world  as  nurses,  as  she 
has  been. 

Here  is  the  "  Nightingale  Home."  The  dining- 
room,  with  its  three  long  tables,  is  an  inviting  apart- 
ment. The  colors  of  wall  and  ceiling  are  iu  red  and 
light  shades.  Here  is  a  Swiss  clock  presented  b^' 
the  Grand  Duchess  of  Baden  ;  here  a  harpsichord, 
also  a  gift.  Here  is  the  marl)le  face  and  figure  I 
have  come  especially  to  see,  that  of  lovely  Florence 
Nightingale.  It  is  a  face  full  of  sweetness  and 
refinement,  having  withal  an  earnest  look,  as  though 
life  were  well  worth  living. 

What  better  work  than  to  direct  these  girls  how  to 
be  useful?     Some  are  here  from  the  highest  social 


^.'^^^.^^^Kio    >^^^^^^^^^^*^ 


(From 


the  '•  Tortrait  Oallcry  of  Eminenl  iMen  and  Women.") 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  279 

circles.  The  '•  probationers,"  or  nurse  pupils,  must 
remain  three  years  before  they  can  become  Protestant 
"  sisters."  -  Each  ward  is  in  charge  of  a  sister  ;  now 
it  is  Leopold,  because  the  ward  bears  that  name  ; 
and  now  Victoria  in  respect  to  the  Queen,  who 
opened  tlie  institution. 

The  sisters  look  sunn}'  and  healthy,  though  the}' 
work  hard.  They  have  regular  hours  for  being  off 
duty,  and  exercise  in  the  open  air.  The  patients 
tell  me  how  "  homelike  it  seems  to  have  women  in 
the  wards,  and  what  a  comfort  it  is  in  their  agony, 
to  be  handled  b}'  their  careful  hands."  Here  are 
four  hundred  persons  in  all  phases  of  suffering,  in 
neat,  cheerful  wards,  brightened  by  pots  of  flowers, 
and  the  faces  of  kind,  devoted  women. 

And  who  is  this  woman  to  whom  the  government 
of  Great  Britain  felt  that  it  owed  so  much,  and  whom 
the  whole  world  delights  to  honor? 

Florence  Nightingale,  born  in  1820,  in  the  beauti- 
ful Italian  cit}^  of  that  name,  is  the  younger  of  two 
daughters  of  AVilliam  Shore  Nightingale,  a  wealthy 
land-owner,  who  inherited  both  the  name  and  fortune 
of  his  granduncle,  Peter  Nightingale.  The  mother 
was  the  daughter  of  the  eminent  philanthropist  and 
member  of  Parliament,  William  Smith. 

Most  of  Miss  Nightingale's  life  has  been  spent  on 
their  beautiful  estate.  Lea  Hurst,  in  Derbyshire,  a 
lovelv  home  in  the  midst  of  picturesque  scener}'.  In 
her  youth  her  father  instructed  her  carefully  in  the 
classics  and  higher  mathematics  ;  a  few  years  later, 


280  FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE. 

partly  through  extensive  travel,  she  became  profi- 
cient in  French,  German,  and  Italian. 

Rich,  pretty,  and  well-educated,  what  was  there 
more  that  she  could  wish  for?  Her  heart,  however, 
did  not  turn  toward  a  fashionable  life.  Very  early 
she  began  to  visit  the  poor  and  the  sick  near  Lea 
Hurst,  and  her  father's  other  estate  at  Embly  Park, 
Hampshire.  Perhaps  the  mantle  of  the  mother's 
father  had  fallen  upon  the  young  girl. 

She  had  also  the  greatest  tenderness  toward  dumb 
animals,  and  never  could  bear  to  see  them  injured. 
Miss  AUdridge,  in  an  interesting  sketch  of  Miss 
Nightingale,  quotes  the  following  story  from  Little 
Folks :  — 

"  Some  years  ago,  when  the  celebrated  Florence 
Nightingale  was  a  little  girl,  living  at  her  father's 
home,  a  large,  old  Elizabethan  house,  with  great  woods 
about  it,  in  Hampshire,  there  was  one  thing  that 
struck  everybody  who  knew  her.  It  was  that  she 
seemed  to  be  always  thinking  what  she  could  do  to 
please  or  help  any  one  who  needed  either  help  or 
comfort.  She  was  very  fond,  too,  of  animals,  and 
she  was  so  gentle  in  her  wa}',  that  even  the  shyest 
of  them  would  come  quite  close  to  her,  and  pick  up 
whatever  she  flung  down  for  them  to  eat. 

"There  was,  in  the  garden  behind  the  house,  a 
long  walk  with  trees  on  each  side,  the  abode  of  many 
squirrels  ;  and  when  Florence  came  down  the  walk, 
dropping  nuts  as  she  went  along,  the  squirrels  would 
run    down  the    trunks  of    their  trees,    and,   hardly 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  281 

waiting  until  she  passed  by,  would  pick  up  the  prize 
and  dart  away,  with  their  little  bushy  tails  curled 
over  their  backs,  and  their  black  eyes  looking  about 
as  if  terrified  at  the  least  noise,  though  they ''did  not 
seem  to  be  afraid  of  Florence. 

"  Then  there  was  an  old  gray  pony  named  Peggy, 
past  work,  living  in  a  paddock,  witli  nothing  to^'do 
all  day  long  but  to  amuse  herself.  Whenever 
Florence  appeared  at  the  gate,  Peggy  would  come 
trotting  up  and  put  her  nose  into  the  dress  pocket 
of  her  little  mistress,  and  pick  it  of  the  apple  or  the 
roll  of  bread  that  she  knew  she  would  always  find 
there,  for  this  was  a  trick  Florence  had  taught  the 
pony.  Florence  was  fond  of  riding,  and  her  father's 
old  friend,  the  clergyman  of  the  parish,  used  often 
to  come  and  take  her  for  a  ride  with  him  when  he 
went  to  the  farm  cottages  at  a  distance.  He  was  a 
good  man  and  very  kind  to  the  poor. 

"As  he  had  studied  medicine  when  a  voung  man, 
he  was  able  to  tell  the  people  what  would  do  them 
good  when  they  were  ill,  or  had  met  with  an  acci- 
dent. Little  Florence  took  great  delight  in  helping 
to  nurse  those  who  were  ill ;  and  whenever  she  wen't 
on  these  long  rides,  she  had  a  small  basket  fastened 
to  her  saddle,  filled  with  something  nice  which  she 
saved  from  her  breakfast  or  dinner,  or  carried  for 
her  mother,  who  was  very  good  to  the  poor. 

"  There  lived  in  one  of  two  or  three  solitary  cot- 
tages in  the  wood  an  old  shepherd  of  her  father's, 
named  Roger,  who  had  a  favorite  sheep-dog  called 


282  FLORENCE  NIGHTIXGALE. 

Cap.  Roger  had  neither  wife  nor  child,  and  Cap 
lived  with  him  and  kept  him,  and  kept  him  company 
at  night  after  he  had  penned  his  flock.  Cap  was  a 
very  sensible  dog ;  indeed,  people  used  to  say  he 
could  do  everything  but  speak.  He  kept  the  sheep 
in  wonderfully  good  order,  and  thus  saved  his  mas- 
ter a  great  deal  of  trouble.  One  day,  as  Florence 
and  her  old  friend  were  out  for  a  ride,  they  came  to 
a  field  where  they  found  the  shepherd  giving  his 
sheep  their  night  feed  ;  but  he  was  without  the  dog, 
and  the  sheep  knew  it,  for  they  were  scampering  in 
every  direction.  Florence  and  her  friend  noticed 
that  the  old  shepherd  looked  very  sad,  and  they 
stopped  to  ask  what  was  the  matter,  and  what  had 
become  of  his  dog. 

"'Oh,'  said  Roger,  'Cap  will  never  be  of  any 
more  use  to  me  ;  I'll  have  to  hang  him,  poor  fellow, 
as  soon  as  I  go  home  to-night.' 

"  '  Hang  him  ! '  said  Florence.  '  Oh,  Roger,  how 
wicked  of  you  !     AVhat  has  dear  old  Cap  done  ? ' 

"  '  He  has  done  nothing,'  replied  Roger;  '  but  he 
will  never  be  of  any  more  use  to  me,  and  I  cannot 
afford  to  keep  him  for  nothing ;  one  of  the  mis- 
chievous school-boys  throwed  a  stone  at  him  yester- 
day, and  broke  one  of  his  legs.'  And  the  old 
shepherd's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  which  he  wiped 
away  with  his  shirt-sleeve  ;  then  he  drove  his  spade 
deep  in  the  ground  to  hide  what  he  felt,  for  he  did 
not  like  to  be  seen  crying. 

''  'Poor  Cap!'  he  sighed;  'he  was  as  knowing 
almost  as  a  human  beinsj.' 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  283 

"'But  are  you  sure  his  leg  is  broken?'  asked 
Florence. 

"  '  Oh,  yes,  miss,  it  is  broken  safe  enough  ;  he  has 
not  put  his  foot  to  the  ground  since.' 

"  Florence  and  her  friend  rode  on  without  saying 
anything  more  to  Roger. 

"  '  ^ye  will  go  and  see  poor  Cap,'  said  the  vicar ; 
'  I  don't  believe  the  leg  is  really  broken.  It  would 
take  a  big  stone  and  a  hard  blow  to  break  the  leg 
of  a  l)ig  dog  like  Cap.' 

'•  '  Oh,  if  you  could  but  cure  him,  how  glad  Roger 
would  be  ! '  replied  Florence. 

"They  soon  reached  the  shepherd's  cottage,  but 
the  door  was  fastened ;  and  when  they  moved  the 
latch,  such  a  furious  barking  was  heard  that  they 
drew  back,  startled.  However,  a  little  boy  came 
out  of  the  next  cottage,  and  asked  if  they  wanted  to 
go  in,  as  Roger  had  left  the  key  with  his  mother. 
So  the  key  was  got,  and  the  door  opened  ;  and  there 
on  the  bare  brick  floor  lay  the  dog,  his  hair  dishev- 
elled, and  his  eyes  sparkling  with  anger  at  the 
intruders.  But  when  he  saw  the  little  boy  he  grew 
peaceful,  and  when  he  looked  at  Florence,  and  heard 
her  call  him  '  poor  Cap,'  he  began  to  wag  his  short 
tail ;  and  then  crept  from  under  the  table,  and 
lay  down  at  her  feet.  She  took  hold  of  one  of  his 
paws,  patted  his  old  rough  head,  and  talked  to  him, 
whilst  her  friend  examined  the  injured  leg.  It  was 
dreadfully  swollen,  and  hurt  very  much  to  have  it 
examined  ;  but  the  dog  knew  it  was  meant  kindly. 


284  FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE. 

and  though  he  moaned  and  winced  with  pain,  he 
licked  the  hands  that  were  hurting  him. 

"  '  It's  only  a  bad  bruise  ;  no  bones  are  broken,' 
said  her  old  friend  ;  '  rest  is  all  Cap  needs  ;  he  will 
soon  be  well  again.' 

"  '  I  am  so  glad,'  said  Florence  ;  '  but  can  we  do 
nothing  for  him?  he  seems  in  such  pain.' 

"  'There  is  one  thing  that  would  ease  the  pain 
and  heal  the  leg  all  the  sooner,  and  that  is  plenty 
of  hot  water  to  foment  the  part.' 

"  Florence  struck  a  light  with  the  tinder-box,  and 
lighted  the  fire,  which  was  already  laid.  She  then 
set  off  to  the  other  cottage  to  get  something  to 
bathe  the  leg  with.  She  found  an  old  flannel  petti- 
coat hanging  up  to  dry,  and  this  she  carried  off,  and 
tore  up  into  slips,  which  she  wrung  out  in  warm 
water,  and  laid  them  tenderly  on  Cap's  swollen  leg. 
It  was  not  long  before  the  poor  dog  felt  the  benefit 
of  the  application,  and  he  looked  grateful,  wagging 
his  little  stump  of  a  tail  in  thanks.  On  their  way 
home  they  met  the  shepherd  coming  slowly  along, 
with  a  piece  of  rope  in  his  hand. 

"  'Oh,  Eoger,'  cried  Florence,  'you  are  not  to 
hang  poor  old  Cap  ;  his  leg  is  not  broken  at  all.' 

"  '  Xo,  he  will  serve  you  yet,'  said  the  vicar. 

"  '  Well,  I  be  main  glad  to  hear  it,'  said  the  shep- 
herd, '  and  many  thanks  to  you  for  going  to  see 
him.' 

"On  the  next  morning  Florence  was  up  early, 
aud  the  first  thiuo-  she  did  was  to  take  two  flannel 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  285 

petticoats  to  give  to  the  poor  woman  whose  skirt  she 
had  torn  up  to  bathe  Cap.  Then  she  went  to  the 
dog,  and  was  delighted  to  find  the  swelling  of  his 
leg  much  less.  She  bathed  it  again,  and  Cap  was 
as  grateful  as  before. 

"Two  or  three  days  afterwards  Florence  and 
her  friend  were  riding  together,  when  they  came  up 
to  Roger  and  his  sheep.  This  time  Cap  was  watch- 
ing the  sheep,  though  he  was  lying  quite  still,  and 
pretending  to  be  asleep.  When  he  heard  the  voice 
of  Florence  speaking  to  his  master,  who  was  por- 
tioning out  the  usual, food,  his  tail  wagged  and  his 
eyes  sparkled,  but  he  did  not  get  up,  for  he  was  on 
duty.  The  shepherd  stopped  his  work,  and  as  he 
glanced  at  the  dog  with  a  merry  laugh,  said,  '  Do 
look  at  the  dog.  Miss  ;  he  be  so  pleased  to  hear  your 
voice.'  Cap's  tail  went  faster  and  faster.  '  1  be 
glad,'  continued  the  old  man,  '  I  did  not  hang  him. 
I  be  greatly  obliged  to  you.  Miss,  and  the  vicar,  for 
what  you  did.  But  for  ^^ou  I  would  have  hanged 
the  best  dog  I  ever  had  in  my  life.'  " 

A  girl  who  was  made  so  happy  in  saving  the  life 
of  an  animal  would  naturally  be  interested  to  save 
human  beings.  Occasionally  her  family  passed  a 
season  in  London,  and  here,  instead  of  giving  much 
time  to  concerts  or  parties,  she  would  visit  hospitals 
and  benevolent  institutions.  When  the  family  trav- 
elled in  Egypt,  she  attended  several  sick  Arabs,  who 
recovered  under  her  hands.  They  doubtless  thought 
the  Eno^lish  o-irl  was  a  saint  sent  down  from  heaven. 


286  FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE. 

The  more  she  felt  drawn  toward  the  sick,  the  more 
she  felt  the  need  of  study,  and  the  more  slie  saw  the 
work  that  refined  women  could  do  in  the  hospitals. 
The  Sisters  of  Charity  were  standing  by  sick-beds  ; 
why  could  there  not  be  Protestant  sisters?  AYlien 
they  travelled  in  Germany,  France,  and  Italy,  she 
visited  infirmaries,  asylums,  and  hospitals,  carefully 
noting  the  treatment  given  in  each. 

Finally  she  determined  to  spend  some  months  at 
Kaiserwerth,  near  Dusseldorf,  on  the  Rhine,  in 
Pastor  Fliedner's  great  Lutheran  hospital.  He  had 
been  a  poor  clergyman,  the  leader  of  a  scanty  flock, 
whose  church  was  badly  in  debt.  A  man  of  much 
enterprise  and  warm  heart,  he  could  not  see  his  work 
fail  for  lack  of  means  ;  so  he  set  out  among  the 
provinces,  to  tell  the  needs  of  his  little  parish.  He 
collected  funds,  learned  much  about  the  poverty  and 
ignorance  of  cities,  preached  in  some  of  the  prisons, 
because  interested  in  criminals,  and  went  back  to 
his  loyal  people. 

But  so  poor  were  they  that  they  could  not  meet 
the  yearly  expenses,  so  he  determined  to  raise  an 
endowment  fund.  He  visited  Holland  and  Great 
Britain,  and  secured  the  needed  money. 

In  England,  in  1832,  he  became  acquainted  with 
Elizabeth  Fry.  How  one  good  life  influences  another 
to  the  end  of  time  !  When  he  went  back  to  Germany 
his  heart  was  aglow  with  a  desire  to  help  humanity. 

He  at  once  opened  an  asylum  for  discharged 
prison-women.      He  saw  how  almost  impossible  it 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  287 

was  for  those  who  had  been  iu  prison  to  obtain  situ- 
ations. Then  he  opened  a  school  for  the  chiklren  of 
such  as  worked  in  factories,  for  he  realized  how 
unfit  for  citizenship  are  those  who  grow  up  in  igno- 
rance. He  did  not  have  much  mone}^  but  he  seemed 
able  to  obtain  what  he  really  needed.  Tlien  he 
opened  a  hospital ;  a  home  for  insane  women ;  a 
home  of  rest  for  his  nurses,  or  for  those  who  needed 
a  place  to  live  after  their  work  was  done.  Soon  the 
"Deaconesses"  at  Kaiserwerth  became  known  the 
country'  over.  Among  the  wildest  Norwegian  moun- 
tains we  met  some  of  these  Kaiserwerth  nurses, 
refined,  educated  ladies,  getting  in  summer  a  new 
lease  of  life  for  their  noble  labors. 

This  Protestant  sisterhood  consists  now  of  about 
seven  hundred  sisters,  at  about  two  hundred  stations, 
the  annual  expense  being  about  $150,000.  What 
a  grand  work  for  one  man,  with  no  money,  the  pas- 
tor of  a  very  humble  church  ! 

Into  this  work  of  Pastor  Fliedner,  Florence  Night- 
ingale heartily  entered.  Was  it  strange  taste  for  a 
pretty  and  wealthy  young  woman,  whose  life  had 
been  one  of  sunshine  and  happiness?  It  was  a 
saintlike  taste,  and  the  world  is  rendered  a  little  like 
Paradise  by  the  presence  of  such  women.  Back  in 
London  the  papers  were  full  of  the  great  exhibition 
of  1851,  but  she  was  more  interested  in  her  Kaiser- 
werth work  tlian  to  be  at  home.  When  she  had 
finished  her  course  of  instruction,  Pastor  Fliedner 
said,  since  he  had  been  director  of  that  institution 


288  FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE. 

no  one  had  ever  passed  so  distinguished  an  exami- 
nation, or  shown  herself  so  thoroughly  mistress  of 
all  she  had  learned. 

On  her  return  to  Lea  Hurst,  she  could  not  rest 
very  long,  while  there  was  so  much  work  to  be  done 
in  the  world.  In  London,  a  hospital  for  sick  gov- 
ernesses was  about  to  fail,  from  lack  of  means  and 
poor  management.  Nobody  seemed  very  deeply 
interested  for  these  overworked  teachers.  But  Miss 
Nightingale  w^as  interested,  and  leaving  her  lovelj* 
home,  she  came  to  the  dreary  house  in  Harley  Street, 
where  she  gave  her  time  and  her  fortune  for  several 
3'ears.  Her  own  frail  health  sank  for  a  time  from 
the  close  confinement,  but  she  had  seen  the  institu- 
tion placed  on  a  sure  foundation,  and  prosperous. 

The  Crimean  War  had  begun.  England  had  sent 
out  ship-loads  of  men  to  the  Black  Sea,  to  engage 
in  war  with  Russia.  Little  thought  seemed  to  have 
been  taken,  in  the  hurrj'  and  enthusiasm  of  war,  to 
provide  proper  clothing  or  food  for  the  men  in  that 
changing  climate.  In  the  desolate  country  there 
was  almost  no  means  of  transportation,  and  men 
and  animals  suffered  from  hunger.  After  the  first 
winter  cholera  broke  out,  and  in  one  camp  twenty 
men  died  in  twenty-four  hours. 

Matters  grew^  from  bad  to  worse.  William  How- 
ard Russell,  the  Times  correspondent,  wrote  home  to 
England  :  "  It  is  now  pouring  rain,  — the  skies  are 
black  as  ink,  —  the  wind  is  howling  over  the  stag- 
gering tents,  —  the  trenches  are  turned  into  dvkes, 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  289 

—  in  the  tents  the  water  is  sometimes  a  foot  deep,  — 
our  men  have  not  either  warm  or  waterproof  cloth- 
ing, —  they  are  out  for  twelve  hours  at  a  time  in  the 
trenches,  —  the}^  are  plunged  into  the  inevitable 
miseries  of  a  winter  campaign,  —  and  not  a  soul 
seems  to  care  for  their  comfort,  or  even  for  their 
lives.  These  are  hard  truths,  but  the  people  of 
England  must  hear  them.  They  must  know  that 
the  wretched  begsfar  who  wanders  about  the  streets 
of  Loudon  in  the  rain,  leads  the  life  of  a  prince, 
compared  with  the  British  soldiers  who  are  fighting 
out  here  for  their  country. 

'•The  commonest  accessories  of  a  hospital  are 
wautiug ;  there  is  not  the  least  attention  paid  to 
decency  or  cleanliness  ;  the  stench  is  appalling ;  the 
fetid  air  can  barely  struggle  out  to  taint  the  atmos- 
phere, save  through  the  chinks  in  the  walls  aud 
roofs ;  and,  for  all  I  can  observe,  these  men  die 
without  the  least  effort  being  made  to  save  them. 
There  they  lie,  just  as  they  were  let  gently  down  on 
the  ground  by  the  poor  fellows,  their  comrades,  who 
brought  them  on  their  backs  from  the  camp  with  the 
greatest  tenderness,  but  who  are  not  allowed  to 
remain  with  them.  The  sick  appear  to  be  tended 
by  the  sick,  and  the  dying  by  the  dying." 

During  the  rigorous  winter  of  1854,  with  snow 
three  feet  thick,  many  were  frozen  in  their  tents. 
Out  of  nearly  forty-five  thousand,  over  eighteen 
thousand  were  reported  in  the  hospitals.  The  Eng- 
lish nation  became  aroused  at  this  state  of  things. 


290  FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE. 

and  ill  less  than  two  weeks  seventy-five  thousand 
dollars  poured  into  the  Times  office  for  the  suffering 
soldiers.  A  special  commissioner,  Mr.  Macdonald, 
was  sent  to  the  Crimea  with  shirts,  sheets,  flannels, 
and  necessary  food. 

But  one  of  the  greatest  of  all  needs  was  woman's 
hand  and  brain,  in  the  dreadful  suffering  and  the 
confusion.  The  testimony  of  the  world  thus  far  has 
been  that  men  everywhere  need  the  help  of  women, 
and  women  everywhere  need  the  help  of  men. 
Right  Honorable  Sydney  Herbert,  the  Secretary  of 
War,  knew  of  but  one  woman  who  could  bring 
order  and  comfort  to  those  far-away  hospitals,  and 
that  woman  was  Miss  Niglitingale.  She  had  made 
herself  ready  at  Kaiserwerth  for  a  great  work,  and 
now  a  great  work  was  ready  for  her. 

But  she  was  frail  in  health,  and  was  it  probable 
that  a  rich  and  refined  lady  would  go  thousands  of 
miles  from  her  kindred,  to  live  in  feverish  wards 
where  there  were  only  men  ?  A  true  woman  dares 
do  anything  that  helps  the  world. 

Mr.  Herbert  wrote  her,  Oct.  15:  "There  is,  as 
far  as  I  know,  onlv  one  person  in  England  capa- 
ble of  organizing  and  directing  such  a  plan,  and  I 
have  been  several  times  on  tlie  point  of  asking  you 
if  you  would  be  disposed  to  make  the  attempt. 
That  it  will  be  difficult  to  form  a  corps  of  nurses, 
no  one  knows  better  than  yourself.  ...  I  have 
this  simple  question  to  put  to  you  :  Could  you  go 
out  yourself,  and  take  charge  of  everything?     It  is. 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  291 

of  course,  understood  that  30U  will  have  absolute 
authority  over  all  the  nurses,  uulimited  power  to 
draw  on  the  government  for  all  you  judge  necessary 
to  the  success  of  your  mission  ;  and  I  think  I  may 
assure  you  of  the  co-operation  of  the  medical  staff. 
Your  personal  qualities,  your  knowledge,  and  your 
authority  in  administrative  affairs,  all  fit  you  for 
this  position." 

It  Avas  a  strange  coincidence  that  on  that  same 
day,  Oct.  15,  Miss  Nightingale,  her  heart  stirred 
for  the  suffering  soldiers,  had  written  a  letter  to 
Mr.  Herbert,  offering  her  services  to  the  govern- 
ment. A  few  days  later  the  world  read,  with 
moistened  e3'es,  this  letter  from  the  war  office : 
"Miss  Nightingale,  accompanied  by  thirty-four 
nurses,  will  leave  this  evening.  Miss  Nightingale, 
who  has,  I  believe,  greater  practical  experience  of 
hos[)ital  administration  and  treatment  than  any 
other  lady  in  this  country,  has,  with  a  self-devotion 
for  which  I  have  no  words  to  express  my  gratitude, 
undertaken  this  noble  but  arduous  work." 

The  heart  of  the  English  nation  followed  the 
heroic  woman.  Mrs.  Jameson  wrote  :  "It  is  an 
undertaking  wholly  new  to  our  English  customs, 
much  at  variance  with  the  usual  education  given  to 
women  in  this  country.  If  it  succeeds,  it  will  be 
the  true,  the  lasting  glory  of  Florence  Nightingale 
and  her  band  of  devoted  assistants,  that  they  have 
broken  down  a  Chinese  wall  of  prejudices,  —  reli- 
gious, social,  professional,  —  and  have  established 


292  FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE. 

a  precedent  which  will,  indeed,  multiply  the  good 
to  all  time."  She  did  succeed,  and  the  results  can 
scarcely  be  overestimated. 

As  the  band  of  nurses  passed  through  France, 
hotel-keepers  would  take  no  pay  for  their  accom- 
modation ;  poor  fisherwomen  at  Boulogne  strug- 
gled for  the  honor  of  carrying  their  baggage  to  the 
railway  station.  They  sailed  in  the  Vectis  across 
the  Mediterranean,  reaching  Scutari,  Nov.  5,  the 
day  of  the  battle  of  Inkerman. 

They  found  in  the  great  Barrack  Hospital,  which 
had  been  lent  to  the  British  by  the  Turkish  govern- 
ment, and  in  another  large  hospital  near  by,  about 
four  thousand  men.  The  corridors  were  filled  with 
two  rows  of  mattresses,  so  close  that  two  persons 
could  scarcely  walk  between  them.  There  was 
work  to  be  done  at  once. 

One  of  the  nurses  wrote  home,  "  The  whole  of 
yesterday  one  could  only  forget  one's  own  existence, 
for  it  was  spent,  first  in  sewing  the  men's  mattresses 
together,  and  then  in  washing  them,  and  assisting 
the  surgeons,  when  we  could,  in  dressing  their 
ghastly  wounds  after  their  five  days'  confinement  on 
board  ship,  during  wdiich  space  their  wounds  had 
not  been  dressed.  Hundreds  of  men  with  fever, 
dysentery,  and  cholera  (the  wounded  were  the 
smaller  portion)  filled  the  wards  in  succession  from 
the  overcrowded  transports." 

Miss  Nightingale,  calm  and  unobtrusive,  went 
quietly  among  the  men,  always  with  a  smile  of  sym- 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  293 

pathy  for  the  suffering.  The  soldiers  often  wept, 
as  for  the  first  time  in  months,  even  years,  a 
woman's  hand  adjusted  their  pillows,  and  a  woman's 
voice  soothed  their  sorrows. 

Miss  Nightingale's  pathway  was  not  an  easy  one. 
Her  coming  did  not  meet  the  general  approval  of 
military  or  medical  officials.  Some  thought  women 
would  be  in  the  way  ;  others  felt  that  their  coming 
was  an  interference.  Possibly  some  did  not  like  to 
have  persons  about  who  would  be  apt  to  tell  the 
truth  on  their  return  to  England.  But  with  good 
sense  and  much  tact  she  was  able  to  overcome  the 
disaffection,  using  her  almost  unlimited  power  with 
discretion. 

As  soon  as  the  wounded  were  attended  to,  she 
established  an  invalid's  kitchen,  where  appetizing- 
food  could  be  prepared, — one  of  the  essentials  in 
convalescence.  Here  she  overlooked  the  proper 
cooking  for  eight  hundred  men  who  could  not  eat 
ordinary  food.  Then  she  established  a  laundry. 
The  beds  and  shirts  of  the  men  were  in  a  filthy  con- 
dition, some  wearing  the  ragged  clothing  in  which 
they  were  brought  down  from  the  Crimea.  It  was 
difficult  to  obtain  either  food  or  clothing,  partly  from 
the  immense  amount  of  "  red  tape  "    in  official  life. 

Miss  Nightingale  seemed  to  be  everywhere.  Dr. 
Pincoffs  said:  "I  believe  that  there  never  was  a 
severe  case  of  any  kind  that  escaped  her  notice  ; 
and  sometimes  it  was  wonderful  to  see  her  at  the 
bedside  of  a  patient  who  had  been  admitted  perhaps 


294  FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE. 

but  an  hour  before,  and  of  whose  arrival  one  would 
hardly  have  supposed  it  possible  she  could  already 
be  cognizant." 

She  aided  the  senior  chaplain  in  establishing  a 
library  and  school-room,  and  in  getting  up  evening 
lectures  for  the  men.  She  supplied  books  and 
games,  wrote  letters  for  the  sick,  and  forwarded 
their  little  savings  to  their  home-friends. 

For  a  year  and  a  half,  till  the  close  of  the  war, 
she  did  a  wonderful  work,  reducing  the  death-rate  in 
the  Barrack  Hospital  from  sixty  per  cent  to  a  little 
above  one  per  cent.  Said  the  Tiiiws  correspondent : 
"Wherever  there  is  disease  in  its  most  dangerous 
form,  and  the  hand  of  the  spoiler  distressingly  nigh, 
there  is  that  incomparable  woman  sure  to  be  seen  ; 
her  benignant  presence  is  an  influence  for  good  com- 
fort even  amid  the  struggles  of  expiring  nature. 
She  is  a  '  ministering  angel,'  without  any  exaggera- 
tion, in  these  hospitals,  and  as  her  slender  form 
glides  quietl}^  along  each  corridor,  ever}^  poor  fel- 
low's face  softens  with  gratitude  at  the  sight  of  her. 
When  all  the  medical  officers  have  retired  for  the 
night,  and  silence  and  darkness  have  settled  down 
upon  these  miles  of  prostrate  sick,  she  may  be  ob- 
served, alone,  with  a  little  lamp  in  her  hand,  making 
her  solitary  rounds. 

"  With  the  heart  of  a  true  woman  and  the  manner 
of  a  lady,  accomplished  and  refined  beyond  most  of 
her  sex,  she  combines  a  surprising  calmness  of 
judgment  and  promptitude  and  decision  of  charac- 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  295 

ter.  The  popular  iustiuct  was  not  mistaken,  which, 
when  she  set  out  from  Eugiand  on  her  mission  of 
mercy,  hailed  her  as  a  heroine  ;  I  trust  she  may  not 
earn  her  title  to  a  higher,  though  sadder,  appella- 
tion. No  one  who  has  observed  her  fragile  figure 
and  delicate  health  can  avoid  misgivings  lest  these 
should  fail." 

One  of  the  soldiers  wrote  home:  "She  would 
speak  to  one  aud  another,  and  nod  and  smile  to  many 
more  ;  but  she  could  not  do  it  to  all,  you  know,  for 
we  lay  there  by  hundreds  ;  but  we  could  kiss  her 
shadow  as  it  fell,  and  lay  our  heads  on  our  pillows 
again  content."  Another  wrote  home  :  "  Before  she 
came  there  was  such  cussin'  and  swearin',  and  after 
that  it  was  as  holy  as  a  church."  No  wonder  she 
was  called  the  "  Angel  of  the  Crimea."  Once  she 
was  prostrated  with  fever,  but  recovered  after  a  few 
weeks. 

Finally  the  war  came  to  an  end.  London  was 
preparing  to  give  Miss  Nightingale  a  royal  wel- 
come, when,  lo  !  she  took  passage  by  design  on  a 
French  steamer,  and  reached  Lea  Hurst,  Aug.  15, 
1856,  unbeknown  to  any  one.  There  was  a  mur- 
mur of  disappointment  at  first,  but  the  people  could 
only  honor  all  the  more  the  woman  who  wished  no 
blare  of  trumpets  for  her  humane  acts. 

Queen  Victoria  sent  for  her  to  visit  her  at  Balmo- 
ral, and  presented  her  with  a  valuable  jewel ;  a 
rub3-red  enamel  cross  on  a  white  field,  encircled  by 
a  black  band  with  the  words,  "  Blessed  are  the  mer- 


296  FLOKEXCE  NIGIITIXGALE. 

ciful."  The  letters  V.  R.,  surmounted  by  a  crown 
in  diamonds,  are  impressed  upon  the  centre  of  the 
cross.  Green  enamel  branches  of  palm,  tipped  with 
gold,  form  the  framework  of  the  shield,  while 
around  their  stems  is  a  riband  of  the  blue  enamel 
with  the  single  word  "  Crimea."  On  the  top  arc 
three  brilliant  stars  of  diamonds.  On  the  back  is 
an  inscription  written  by  the  Queen.  The  Sultan 
sent  her  a  magnificent  bracelet,  and  the  government, 
8250,000,  to  found  the  school  for  nurses  at  St. 
Thomas'  Hospital. 

Since  the  war.  Miss  Nightingale  has  never  been 
in  strong  health,  but  she  has  written  several  valuable 
books.  Her  Hospital  Notes,  published  in  1859, 
have  furnished  plans  for  scores  of  new  hospitals. 
Her  Notes  on  Nursing,  published  in  1860,  of  which 
over  one  hundred  thousand  have  been  sold,  deserve 
to  be  in  ever}*  home.  She  is  the  most  earnest  advo- 
cate of  sunlight  and  fresh  air. 

She  says  :  "  An  extraordinary  fallacy  is  the  dread 
of  night  air.  What  air  can  we  breathe  at  nis^ht  but 
night  air?  The  choice  is  between  pure  night  air 
from  without,  and  foul  night  air  from  within.  Most 
people  prefer  the  latter,  —  an  unaccountable  choice. 
What  will  they  say  if  it  be  proved  true  that  fully 
one-half  of  all  the  disease  ice  suffer  from  is  occasioned 
by  people  sleeping  icith  their  icindoics  shut?  An  open 
window  most  nights  of  the  year  can  never  hurt  any 
one.  In  great  cities  night  air  is  often  the  best  and 
purest  to  be  had  in  the  twenty-four  hours. 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  297 

"  The  fiA'e  essentials,  for  healthy  houses,"  she 
says,  are  "  pure  ah",  pure  water,  efficient  drainage, 
cleanliness,  and  light.  ...  I  have  known  whole 
houses  and  hospitals  smell  of  the  sink.  I  have  met 
just  as  strong  a  stream  of  sewer  air  coming  up  the 
back  stah'case  of  a  grand  London  house,  from  the 
sink,  as  I  have  ever  met  at  Scutari ;  and  I  have 
seen  the  rooms  in  that  house  all  ventilated  by  the 
open  doors,  and  the  passages  all  ?/?iventilated  by 
the  close  windows,  in  order  that  as  much  of  the 
sewer  air  as  possible  might  be  conducted  into  and 
retained  in  the  bed-rooms.     It  is  w^onderful !  " 

Miss  Nightingale  has  much  humor,  and  she  shows 
it  in  her  writings.  She  is  opposed  to  dark  houses  ; 
says  they  promote  scrofula;  to  old  papered  walls, 
and  to  carpets  full  of  dust.  An  uninhabited  room 
becomes  full  of  foul  air  soon,  and  needs  to  have  the 
windows  opened  often.  She  would  keep  sick  peo- 
ple, or  well,  forever  in  the  sunlight  if  possible,  for 
sunlight  is  the  greatest  possible  purifier  of  the  atmos- 
phere. "  In  the  unsunned  sides  of  narrow  streets, 
there  is  degeneracy  and  weakliness  of  the  human 
race, — mind  and  body  equally  degenerating."  Of 
the  ruin  wrought  by  bad  air,  she  says:  "Oh,  the 
crowded  national  school,  where  so  many  children's 
epidemics  have  their  origin,  what  a  tale  its  air-test 
would  tell !  We  should  have  parents  saying,  and 
saying  rightly,  '  I  will  not  send  my  child  to  that 
school ;  the  air-test  stands  at  "  horrid."  '  And  the 
dormitories  of  our  great  boardino-schools  !     Scarlet 


298  FLOREXf'K  XIGHTIXGALE. 

fever  would  be  no  more  ascribed  to  contagion,  but 
to  its  right  cause,  the  air-test  standing  at  'Foul.' 
We  should  hear  no  longer  of  '  Mysterious  Dispensa- 
tions,' and  of  '  Plague  and  Pestilence,'  being  in 
'  God's  hands,'  when,  so  far  as  we  know,  He  has  put 
them  into  our  own."  She  urges  much  rubbing  of  the 
body,  washing  with  warm  water  and  soap.  "  The 
onh'  way  I  know  to  remove  dust,  is  to  wipe  every- 
thing with  a  damp  cloth.  ...  If  you  must  have  a 
carpet,  the  only  safety  is  to  take  it  up  two  or  three 
times  a  year,  instead  of  once.  .  .  .  The  best  wall 
now  extant  is  oil  paint." 

"Nursing  is  an  art;  and  if  it  is  to  be  made  an 
art,  requires  as  exclusive  a  devotion,  as  hard  a 
preparation,  as  an}'  painter's  or  sculptor's  work  ;  for 
what  is  the  having  to  do  with  dead  canvas  or  cold 
marble  compared  with  having  to  do  with  the  living 
body,  the  temple  of  God's  Spirit?  Nursing  is  one 
of  the  fine  arts  ;  I  had  almost  said,  the  finest  of  the 
fine  arts." 

Miss  Niojhtino^ale  has  also  written  Observations  on 
the  Sanitary  State  of  the  Army  in  Lidia,  18G3  ;  Life 
or  Death  in  India,)  read  before  the  National  Asso- 
ciation for  the  Promotion  of  Social  Science,  1873, 
with  an  appendix  on  Life  or  Death  by  Liigation, 
1874. 

She  is  constantly  doing  deeds  of  kindness.  With 
a  subscription  sent  recently  by  her  to  the  Gordon 
Memorial  Fund,  she  said  :  "  Might  but  the  example 
of  this  great  and  pure  hero  be  made  to  tell,  in  that 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE.  299 

self  no  longer  existed  to  him,  but  only  God  and 
duty,  on  the  soldiers  who  have  died  to  save  him, 
and  on  boys  who  should  live  to  follow  him." 

Miss  Nightingale  has  helped  to  dignify  labor,  and 
to  elevate  humanity,  and  has  thus  made  her  name 
immortal. 


300  LADY  BKASSEY. 


LADY   BRASSEY. 

ONE  of  my  pleasantest  days  in  England  was 
spent  at  old  Battle  Abbey,  the  scene  of  the 
ever-memorable  Battle  of  Hastings,  where  William 
of  Normandy  conquered  tlie  Saxon  Harold. 

The  abbey  was  built  by  William  as  a  thank-offer- 
ing for  the  victory,  on  the  spot  where  Harold  set  np 
his  standard.  The  old  gateway  is  one  of  the  finest 
in  Enoland.  Part  of  the  ancient  church  remains, 
flowers  and  ivy  growing  out  of  the  beautiful  gothic 
arches. 

As  one  stands  upon  the  walls  and  looks  out  upon 
the  sea,  that  great  battle  comes  up  before  him.  The 
Norman  hosts  disembark  ;  first  come  the  archers  in 
short  tunics,  with  bows  as  tall  as  themselves  and 
quivers  full  of  arrows ;  then  the  knights  in  coats  of 
mail,  with  long  lances  and  two-edged  swords  ;  Duke 
William  steps  out  last  from  the  ship,  and  falls  fore- 
most on  both  hands.  His  men  gather  about  him  in 
alarm,  but  he  says,  "See,  my  lords,  I  have  taken 
possession  of  England  with  both  my  hands.  It  is 
now  mine,  and  what  is  mine  is  yours." 

Word  is  sent  to  Harold  to  surrender  the  throne, 
but  he  returns  answer  as  haughty  as  is  sent.     Brave 


LADY   BRASSP:Y. 


LADY  BRASSEY.  301 

and  noble,  he  plants  his  standard,  a  warrior  spark- 
ling with  gold  and  precious  stones,  and  thus  ad- 
dresses his  men  :  — 

"The  Normans  are  good  knights,  and  well  used 
to  war.  If  they  pierce  our  ranks,  we  are  lost. 
Cleave,  and  do  not  spare !  "  Then  they  build  up  a 
breastwork  of  shields,  which  no  man  can  pass  alive. 
William  of  Normandy  is  ready  for  action.  He  in 
turn  addresses  his  men  :  "  Spare  not,  and  strike 
hard.  There  will  be  booty  for  all.  It  will  be  in 
vain  to  ask  for  peace  ;  the  English  will  not  give  it. 
Flight  is  impossible  ;  at  the  sea  you  will  find  neither 
ship  nor  bridge  ;  the  English  would  overtake  and 
annihilate  you  there.     The  victory  is  in  our  hands." 

From  nine  till  three  the  battle  rages.  The  case 
becomes  desperate.  William  orders  the  archers  to 
fire  into  the  air,  as  they  cannot  pierce  English  armor, 
and  arrows  fall  down  like  rain  upon  the  Saxons. 
Harold  is  pierced  in  the  eye.  He  is  soon  overcome 
and  trampled  to  death  by  the  enemy,  dying,  it  is 
said,  with  the  words  "Holy  Cross"  upon  his  hps. 

Ten  thousand  are  killed  on  either  side,  and  the 
Saxons  pass  forever  under  foreign  rule.  Harold's 
mother  comes  and  begs  the  body  of  her  son,  and 
pays  for  it,  some  historians  say,  its  weight  in  gold. 

Ever}^  foot  of  ground  at  Battle  Abbey  is  historic, 
and  all  the  country  round  most  interesting.  We 
drive  over  the  smoothest  of  roads  to  a  palace  in  the 
distance,  —  Normanhurst,  the  home  of  Lady  Brassey, 
the  distinsfuished  author  and  traveller.     Towers  are 


302  LADY  BRASSEY. 

at  either  corner  and  in  the  centre,  and  ivy  climbs 
over  the  spacious  vestibule  to  the  roof.  Great  build- 
ings for  waterworks,  conservatories,  and  tlie  hke, 
are  adjoining,  in  the  midst  of  flower-gardens  and 
acres  of  lawn  and  forest.  It  is  a  place  fit  for  the 
abode  of  royalty  itself. 

In  no  home  have  I  seen  so  much  that  is  beautiful 
gathered  from  all  parts  of  the  world.  The  hall,  as 
you  enter,  square  and  hung  with  crimson  velvet,  is 
adorned  with  vahiable  paintings.  Two  easy-chairs 
before  the  fireplace  are  made  from  ostriches,  their 
backs  forjning  the  seats.  Tliese  birds  were  gifts  to 
Lad}'  Brassey  in  her  travels.  In  the  rooms  beyond 
are  treasures  from  Japan,  the  South  Sea  Islands, 
South  America,  indeed  from  everywhere  ;  cases  of 
pottery,  works  in  marble,  Dresden  candelabra, 
ancient  armor,  furs,  silks,  all  arrayed  with  exquisite 
taste. 

One  room,  called  the  Marie  Antoinette  room,  has 
the  curtains  and  furniture,  in  yellow,  of  this  unfor- 
tunate queen.  Here  are  pictures  by  Sir  Frederick 
Leighton,  Landseer,  and  others  ;  stuffed  birds  and 
fishes  and  animals  from  ever}'  clime,  with  flowers  in 
profusion.  In  the  dining-room,  with  its  gray  walls 
and  red  furniture,  is  a  large  painting  of  the  mistress 
of  this  superb  home,  with  her  favorite  horse  and 
dogs.  The  views  from  the  windows  are  beautiful. 
Battle  Abbey  ruin  in  the  distance,  and  rivers  flowing 
to  the  sea.  The  house  is  rich  in  color,  one  room 
being  blue,  another  red,  a  third  yellow,  while  large 


SIR  THOMAS   BKASSEY. 


LADY  BRASSEY.  303 

mirrors  seem  to  repeat  the  apartments  again  and 
again.  As  we  leave  the  home,  not  the  least  of 
its  attractions  come  up  the  grounds,  —  a  load  of 
merry  children,  all  in  sailor  hats  ;  the  Mabelle  and 
Muriel  and  Marie  whom  we  have  learned  to  know 
in  Lady  Brassey's  books. 

The  well-known  author  is  the  daughter  of  the  late 
Mr.  John  Alnutt  of  Berkley  Square,  London,  who, 
as  w^ell  as  his  father,  was  a  patron  of  art,  having 
made  large  collections  of  paintings.  Reared  in 
wealth  and  culture,  it  was  but  natural  that  the 
daughter,  Annie,  should  find  in  the  wealthy-  and  cul- 
tured Sir  Thomas  Brassey  a  man  worthy  of  her  affec- 
tions. In  1860,  while  both  were  quite  young,  they 
were  married,  and  together  they  have  travelled, 
written  books,  aided  working  men  and  women,  and 
made  for  themselves  a  noble  and  lasting  fame. 

Sir  Thomas  is  the  eldest  son  of  the  late  Mr. 
Brassey,  '^  the  leviathan  contractor,  the  employer  of 
untold  thonsands  of  navvies,  the  genie  of  the  spade 
and  pick,  and  almost  the  pioneer  of  railway  builders, 
not  only  in  his  own  country,  but  from  one  end  of  the 
continent  to  the  other."  Of  superior  education, 
having  been  at  Rugby  and  University  College, 
Oxford,  Sir  Thomas  was  called  to  the  bar  at 
Lincoln's  Inn  in  1864,  and  was  elected  to  Parlia- 
ment from  Devonport  the  following  year,  and  from 
Hastings  three  years  later,  in  1868,  which  position 
he  has  filled  ever  since. 

Exceedingly  fond  of  the  sea,  he  determined  to  be 


304  LADY  BRASSEY. 

a  practical  sailor,  and  qualified  himself  as  a  master- 
marine,  by  passing  the  requisite  Board  of  Trade 
examination,  and  receiving  a  certificate  as  a  seaman 
and  navigator.  In  1869  he  was  made  Honorary 
Lieutenant  in  the  Royal  Naval  Reserve. 

Besides  his  parUamentary  work,  he  has  been  an 
able  and  voluminous  writer.  His  Foreign  Work  and 
English  Wages  I  purcliased  in  England,  and  have 
found  it  valuable  in  facts  and  helpful  in  spirit.  The 
statement  in  the  preface  that  he  "  has  had  under  con- 
sideration the  expediency  of  retiring  from  Parlia- 
ment, with  the  view  of  devoting  an  undivided  atten- 
tion to  the  elucidation  of  industrial  problems,  and 
the  improvement  of  the  relations  between  capital 
and  labor,"  shows  the  heart  of  the  man.  In  1880 
he  was  made  Civil  Lord  of  the  Admiralty,  and  in 
1881  was  created  by  the  Queen  a  Knight  Commander 
of  the  Order  of  the  Bath,  for  his  important  services 
in  connection  with  the  organization  of  the  Naval 
Reserve  forces  of  the  country. 

In  1869,  after  Sir  Thomas  and  Lad}'  Brassey  had 
been  nine  years  married,  they  determined  to  take  a 
sea-voyage  in  his  yacht,  and  between  this  time  and 
1872  they  made  two  cruises  in  the  Mediterranean 
and  the  East.  From  her  childhood  the  wife  had 
kept  a  journal,  and  from  fine  powers  of  observation 
and  much  general  knowledo-e  was  well  fitted  to  see 
whatever  was  to  be  seen,  and  describe  it  graphically. 
She  wrote  long,  journal-like  letters  to  her  father,  and 
on  her  return  The  Flight  of  the  Meteor  was  prepared 


LADY  BRASSEY.  305 

for  distribution  among  relatives  and  intimate 
friends. 

In  the  year  last  mentioned,  1872,  they  took  a  trip 
to  Canada  and  the  United  States,  sailing  up  several 
of  the  long  rivers,  and  on  her  return,  A  Cruise  in 
the  Eothen  was  published  for  friends. 

Four  years  later  they  decided  to  go  round  tlie 
world,  and  for  this  purpose  the  beautiful  yacht  Sun- 
beam was  built.  The  children,  the  animal  pets,  two 
dogs,  three  birds,  and  a  Persian  kitten  for  the  baby, 
were  all  taken,  and  the  happy  famil}'  left  England 
July  1,  1876.  With  the  crew,  the  whole  number  of 
persons  on  board  was  forty-three.  Almost  at  the 
beginning  of  the  voyage  they  encountered  a  severe 
storm.  Captain  Lecky  would  have  been  lost  but  for 
the  presence  of  mind  of  Mabelle  Brassey,  the  oldest 
daughter,  who  has  her  mother's  courage  and  calm- 
ness. "When  asked  if  she  thought  she  was  going 
overboard,  she  answered,  "I  did  not  think  at  all, 
mamma,  but  felt  sure  we  were  gone." 

"  Soon  after  this  adventure,"  says  Lady  Brasse}', 
"  we  all  went  to  bed,  full  of  thanksgiving  that  it  had 
ended  as  well  as  it  did ;  but,  alas,  not,  so  far  as  I 
was  concerned,  to  rest  in  peace.  In  about  two  hours 
I  was  awakened  by  a  tremendous  weight  of  water 
suddenly  descending  upon  me  and  flooding  the  l)ed. 
I  immediately  sprang  out,  only  to  find  myself  in 
another  pool  on  the  floor.  It  was  pitch  dark,  and  I 
could  not  think  what  had  happened  ;  so  I  rushed  on 
deck,  and  found  that  the  weather  having  moderated 


30G  LADY  BRASSEY. 

a  little,  some  kind  sailor,  knowing  my  love  of  fresh 
air,  bad  opened  the  skylight  rather  too  soon,  and 
one  of  the  angry  waves  had  popped  on  board,  delug- 
ing the  cabin. 

"  I  got  a  light,  and  proceeded  to  mop  up,  as  best 
I  could,  and  then  endeavored  to  find  a  dry  place  to 
sleep  in.  This,  however,  was  no  easy  task,  for  my 
own  bed  was  drenched,  and  every  other  berth  occu- 
pied. The  deck,  too,  was  ankle-deep  in  water,  as  I 
found  when  I  tried  to  get  across  to  the  deck-house 
sofa.  At  last  I  lay  down  on  the  floor,  wrapped  in 
my  ulster,  and  wedged  between  the  foot  stanchion 
of  our  swing  bed  and  the  wardrobe  athwart-ship  ;  so 
that  as  the  yacht  rolled  heavily,  ni}'  feet  were  often 
higher  than  my  head." 

No  wonder  that  a  woman  who  could  make  the  best 
of  such  circumstances  could  make  a  year's  trip  oh 
the  Sunbeam  a  delight  to  all  on  board.  Their  first 
visits  were  to  the  Madeira,  Tenerifte,  and  Cape  de 
Verde  Islands,  off  the  coast  of  Africa.  With  sim- 
plicity, the  charm  of  all  writing,  and  naturalness. 
Lady  Brassey  describes  the  people,  the  bathing  where 
the  sharks  were  plentiful,  and  the  masses  of  wild 
geranium,  hydrangea,  and  fuchsia.  They  climb  to 
the  top  of  the  lava  Peak  of  Teneriflfe,  over  twelve 
thousand  feet  high ;  they  rise  at  five  o'clock  to  see 
the  beautiful  sunrises ;  they  watch  the  slaves  at 
coffee-raising  at  Rio  de  Janeiro,  in  South  America, 
and  Lady  Brassey  is  attracted  toward  the  nineteen 
tiny  babies   b}'   the    side    of   their   mothers;    ''the 


LADY  DRASSEY,  307 

Youugest,  a  clear,  little  woolly -headed  thing,  as  black 
as  jet,  and  only  three  weeks  old." 

In  Belgrano,  she  says  :  "  We  saw  for  the  first  time 
the  holes  of  the  bizcachas,  or  prairie-dogs,  outside 
which  the  little  prairie-owls  keep  guard.  There 
appeared  to  be  always  one,  and  generally  two,  of 
these  birds,  standing  like  sentinels,  at  the  entrance 
to  each  hole,  with  their  wise-looking  heads  on  one  side, 
pictures  of  prudence  and  watchfulness.  The  bird 
and  the  beast  are  great  friends,  and  are  seldom  to  be 
found  apart."  And  then  Lady  Brassey,  who  under- 
stands photography  as  well  as  how  to  write  several 
languages,  photographs  this  pretty  scene  of  prairie- 
dogs  guarded  by  owls,  and  puts  it  in  her  book. 

On  their  way  to  the  Straits  of  Magellan,  they  see 
a  ship  on  fire.  They  send  out  a  boat  to  her,  and 
bring  in  the  suffering  crew  of  fifteen  men,  almost 
wild  with  J03'  to  be  rescued.  Their  cargo  of  coal  had 
been  on  fire  for  four  days.  The  men  were  exhausted, 
the  fires  beneath  their  feet  were  constantly  growing- 
hotter,  and  finally  they  gave  up  in  despair  and  lay 
down  to  die.  But  the  captain  said,  "There  is  One 
above  who  looks  after  us  all,"  and  again  they  took 
courage.  They  lashed  the  two  apprentice  boys  in 
one  of  the  little  boats,  for  fear  thev  would  be  washed 
overboard,  for  one  was  the  "  only  son  of  his  mother, 
and  she  a  widow." 

''  The  captain,"  says  Lad}"  Brassey,  "  drowned  his 
favorite  dog,  a  splendid  Newfoundland,  just  before 
leaving  the  ship  ;  for  although  a  capital  watchdog. 


308  LADY  r>RAS!<EY. 

and  very  faithful,  he  was  ratlier  large  and  fierce  ; 
and  when  it  was  known  that  the  Sunbeam  was  a 
3'acht  with  ladies  and  children  on  board,  he  feared  to 
introduce  him.  Poor  fellow  !  I  wish  I  had  known 
about  it  in  time  to  save  his  life !  " 

The}'  "steamed  past  the  low  sandy  coast  of  Pata- 
gonia and  the  rugged  mountains  of  Tierra  del  Fuego, 
literalW,  Land  of  Fire,  so  called  from  the  custom  the 
inhabitants  have  of  lighting  fires  on  prominent  points 
as  signals  of  assembly."  The  people  are  cannibals, 
and  naked.  "Their  food  is  of  the  most  meagre 
description,  and  consists  mainly  of  shell-fish,  sea- 
eggs,  for  which  the  women  dive  with  much  dexterity, 
and  fish,  which  tliey  train  their  dogs  to  assist  them 
in  catching.  These  dogs  are  sent  into  the  water  at 
the  entrance  of  a  narrow  creek  or  small  bay,  and 
tliey  then  bark  and  flounder  about  and  drive  the 
fish  before  them  into  shallow  water, *where  they  are 
caught." 

Three  of  these  Fuegians,  a  man,  woman,  and  lad, 
come  out  to  the  yacht  in  a  craft  made  of  planks 
rudely  tied  together  with  the  sinews  of  animals,  and 
give  otter  skins  for  "tobaco  and  galleta  "  (biscuit), 
for  which  they  call.  When  Lady  Brassey  gives 
the  lad  and  his  mother  some  strings  of  blue, 
red,  and  green  glass  beads,  they  laugh  and 
jabber  most  enthusiastically.  Their  paddles  are 
"  split  branches  of  trees,  with  wider  pieces  tied  on 
at  one  end,  with  the  sinews  of  birds  or  beasts.  " 
At   the    various    places    where    they    land,    all   go 


LADY  BRASSEY.  309 

armed,  Lfid}^  Brasse}'  herself  being  well  skilled  in 
their  use. 

She  never  forgets  to  do  a  kindness.  In  Chili  she 
hears  that  a  poor  engine-driver,  an  Englishman,  has 
met  with  a  serious  accident,  and  at  once  hastens  to 
see  him.  He  is  delighted  to  hear  about  the  trip  of 
the  Sunbeam,  and  forgets  for  a  time  his  intense 
suffering  in  his  joy  at  seeing  her. 

In  Santiago  she  describes  a  visit  to  the  ruin  of  the 
Jesuit  church,  where,  Dec.  8,  1863,  at  the  Feast  of 
the  Virgin,  two  thousand  persons,  mostly  women 
and  children,  were  burned  to  death.  A  few  were 
drawn  up  through  a  hole  in  the  roof  and  thus  saved. 

Their  visit  to  the  South  Sea  Islands  is  full  of  in- 
terest. At  Bow  Island  Lady  Brassey  buys  two 
tame  pigs  for  twenty-five  cents  each,  which  are  so 
docile  that  they  follow  her  about  the  yacht  with  the 
dogs,  to  whom  they  took  a  decided  fancy.  She  calls 
one  Agag,  because  he  walks  so  delicately  on  his 
toes.  The  native  women  break  cocoanuts  and  offer 
them  the  milk  to  drink.  At  Maitea  the  natives  are 
puzzled  to  know  why  the  island  is  visited.  "No 
sell  brandy?"  they  ask.  "No."  "No  stealy 
men  ?  "  "  No."  "  No  do  what  then  ?  "  The  chief 
receives  most  courteously,  cutting  down  a  banana- 
tree  for  them,  when  they  express  a  wish  for  bana- 
nas. He  would  receive  no  money  for  his  presents 
to  them.  • 

In  Tahiti  a  feast  is  given  in  their  honor,  in  a 
house  seemingly  made  of  banana-trees,   "  the  floor 


310  LADY  BRASSEY. 

covered  with  the  finest  mats,  and  the  centre  strewn 
with  broad  green  plantain  leaves,  to  form  the  table- 
cloth. .  .  .  Before  each  guest  was  placed  a  half- 
cocoanut  full  of  salt  water,  another  full  of  chopped 
cocoanut,  a  third  full  of  fresh  water,  and  another 
full  of  milk,  two  pieces  of  bamboo,  a  basket  of 
poi,  half  a  breadfruit,  and  a  platter  of  green  leaves, 
the  latter  being  changed  with  each  course.  We  took 
our  seats  on  the  ground  round  the  green  table.  The 
first  operation  was  to  mix  the  salt  water  and  the 
chopped  cocoanut  together,  so  as  to  make  an 
appetizing  sauce,  into  which  we  were  supposed  to 
dip  each  morsel  we  ate.  We  were  tolerably  suc- 
cessful in  the  use  of  our  fingers  as  substitutes  for 
knives  and  forks." 

At  the  Sandwich  Islands,  in  Hilo,  they  visit  the 
volcano  of  Kilauea.  They  descend  the  precipice, 
three  hundred  feet,  which  forms  the  wall  of  the  old 
crater.  They  ascend  the  present  crater,  and  stand 
on  the  "  edge  of  a  precipice,  overhanging  a  lake  of 
molten  fire,  a  hundred  feet  below  us,  and  nearly  a 
mile  across.  Dashing  against  the  cliffs  on  the 
opposite  side,  with  a  noise  like  the  roar  of  a  stormy 
ocean,  waves  of  blood-red,  fiery  liquid  lava  hurled 
their  billows  upon  an  iron-bound  headland,  and  then 
rushed  up  the  face  of  the  cliffs  to  toss  their  gory 
spra}^  high  in  the  air." 

They  pass  the  island  of  Molokai ,.  where  the  poor 
lepers  end  their  days  away  from  home  and  kindred. 
At  Honolulu  they  are  entertained  by  the  Prince,  and 


LADY  BE  ASSET.  311 

theu  sail  for  Japan,  China,  Ceylon,  through  Suez, 
stopping  in  Egypt,  and  then  home.  On  their  arri- 
val. Lady  Brasse}'  says,  "How  can  I  describe  the 
warm  greetings  that  met  us  everywhere,  or  the 
crowd  that  surrounded  us ;  how,  along  the  whole 
ten  miles  from  Hastings  to  Battle,  people  were 
standing  by  the  roadside  and  at  the  cottage  doors 
to  welcome  us  ;  how  the  Battle  bell-ringers  never 
stopped  ringing  except  during  service  time  ;  or  how 
the  warmest  of  welcomes  ended  our  delightful  year 
of  travel  and  made  us  feel  we  were  home  at  last, 
with  thankful  hearts  for  the  providential  care  which 
had  watched  over  us  whithersoever  we  roamed !  " 

The  trip  had  been  one  of  continued  ovation. 
Crowds  had  gathered  in  every  place  to  see  the 
/Simbeam,  and  often  trim  her  with  flowers  from 
stem  to  stern.  Presents  of  parrots,  and  kittens,  and 
pigs  abounded,  and  Lady  Brassey  had  cared  tenderly 
for  them  all.  Christmas  was  observed  on  ship- 
board with  gifts  for  everybod}' ;  thoughtf ulness  and 
kindness  had  made  the  trip  a  delight  to  the  crew  as 
well  as  the  passengers. 

The  letters  sent  home  from  the  Sunbeam  were 
so  thoroughly  enjoyed  by  her  father  and  friends, 
that  they  prevailed  upon  her  to  publish  a  book, 
which  she  did  in  1878.  It  was  found  to  be  as  full 
of  interest  to  the  world  as  it  had  been  to  the  inti- 
mate friends,  and  it  passed  rapidly  through  four 
editions.  An  abridged  edition  appeared  in  the  fol- 
lowing year  ;  then  the  call  for  it  was  so  great  that 


312  LADY  BE  ASSET. 

an  edition  was  prepared  for  reading  in  schools,  in 
1880,  and  finally,  in  1881,  a  twelve-cent  edition,  tliat 
the  poor  as  well  as  the  rich  might  ha^•e  an  opportn- 
uity  of  reading  this  fascinating  book.  Around  the 
World  in  the  Yacht  Sunbeam.  And  now  Lady 
Brasse}'  found  herself  not  only  the  accomplished  and 
benevolent  wife  of  a  member  of  Parliament,  but  a 
famous  author  as  well. 

This  year,  July,  1881,  the  King  of  the  Sandwich 
Islands,  who  had  been  greatly  pleased  with  her  de- 
scription of  his  kingdom,  was  entertained  at  Nor- 
manhurst  Castle,  and  invested  Lady  Brassey  with  the 
Order  of  Kapiolani. 

The  next  trip  made  was  to  the  far  East,  and  a 
book  followed  in  1880,  entitled,  Sunshine  and  Storm 
in  the  East ;  or,  Cruises  to  Cyprus  and  Constantino- 
ple, dedicated  ''to  the  brave,  true-hearted  sailors 
of  England,  of  all  ranks  and  services." 

The  book  is  intensely  interesting.  Now  she  de- 
scribes the  Sultan  going  to  the  mosque,  which  he 
does  every  Friday  at  twelve  o'clock.  "  He  appeared 
in  a  sort  of  undress  uniform,  with  a  flowing  cloak 
over  it,  and  with  two  or  three  large  diamond  stars 
on  his  breast.  He  was  mounted  on  a  superb  white 
Arab  charger,  thirty-three  years  old,  whose  saddle- 
cloths and  trappings  blazed  with  gold  and  diamonds. 
The  following  of  officers  on  foot  was  enormous  ;  and 
then  came  two  hundred  of  the  fat  blue  and  gold 
pashas,  with  their  white  horses  and  brilliant  trap- 
pings, the  rear  being  bronght  up  by  some  troops  and 


LADY  B BASSE Y.  313 

a  few  carriages.  .  .  .  Noboch^  dares  address  the 
Sultan,  even  if  he  speaks  to  them,  except  in  mono- 
syllables, with  their  foreheads  almost  touching  the 
floor,  the  only  exception  being  the  grand  vizier,  who 
dares  not  look  up,  but  stands  almost  bent  double. 
He  is  entirely  governed  b}"  his  mother,  who,  having 
been  a  slave  of  the  very  lowest  description,  to  whom 
his  father,  Mahmoud  II.,  took  a  fancy  as  she  was 
carr^'ing  wood  to  the  bath,  is  naturally  bigoted  and 
ignorant.  .  .  .  The  Sultan  is  not  allowed  to  marry, 
but  the  slaves  who  become  mothers  of  his  children 
are  called  sultanas,  and  not  allowed  to  do  any  more 
work.  They  have  a  separate  suite  of  apartments,  a 
retinue  of  servants,  besides  carriages  and  horses, 
and  each  hopes  some  day  to  be  the  mother  of  the 
future  Sultan,  and  therefore  the  most  prominent 
woman  in  Turkey.  The  sultanas  may  not  sit  at  table 
with  their  own  children,  on  account  of  their  having 
been  slaves,  while  the  children  are  princes  and  prin- 
cesses in  right  of  their  father." 

Lady  Brassey  tells  the  amusing  stor}^  of  a  visit  of 
Eugenie  to  the  Sultan's  mother,  when  the  Empress  of 
the  Erench  saluted  her  on  the  cheek.  Tiie  Turkish 
woman  was  furious,  and  said  she  had  never  been  so 
insulted  in  her  life.  "  She  retired  to  bed  at  once, 
was  bled,  and  had  several  Turkish  baths,  to  purify 
her  from  the  pollution.  Eancy  the  Empress'  feel- 
ings when,  after  having  so  far  condescended  as  to 
kiss  the  old  woman,  born  one  of  the  lowest  of 
slaves,  she    had    her    embrace    received    in  such    a 


314  LADY  B BASSE Y, 

The  habits  and  customs  of  the  people  are  de- 
scribed by  Lady  Brassey  with  all  the  interest  of  a 
novel.  On  their  return  home,  "  again  the  Battle 
bells  rang  out  a  merr}'  peal  of  gladness  ;  again 
everybody  rushed  out  to  welcome  us.  At  home  once 
again,  the  servants  and  the  animals  seemed  equally 
glad  to  see  us  back  ;  the  former  looked  the  picture 
of  happiness,  while  the  dogs  jumped  and  barked  ; 
the  horses  and  ponies  neighed  and  whinnied  ;  the 
monkeys  chT^ttered ;  the  cockatoos  and  parrots 
screamed  ;  the  birds  chirped  ;  the  bullfinches  piped 
their  little  ptean  of  welcome.  .  .  .  Our  old  Sussex 
cowman  says  that  even  the  cows  eat  their  food 
'•  kind  of  kinder  like '  when  the  family  are  at  home. 
The  deer  and  the  ostriches  too,  the  swans  and  the 
call  ducks,  all  came  running  to  meet  us,  as  we  drove 
round  the  place  to  see  them."  Kindness  to  both  man 
and  beast  bears  its  legitimate  fruit. 

Two  years  later  she  prepared  the  letter-press  to 
Taint i :  a  Series  of  Plioto(jraplis^  taken  by  Colonel 
Stuart  Wortley.  He  also  is  a  gentleman  of  much 
culture  and  noble  work,  in  whose  home  we  saw 
beautiful  things  gathered  from  many  lands. 

The  last  long  trip  of  Sir  Thomas  and  Lady 
Brassey  was  made  in  the  fall  of  1883,  and  resulted  in 
a  charming  book.  In  the  Trades^  the  Troincs,  and 
the  Roaring  Forties^  with  about  three  hundred  illus- 
trations. The  route  lay  through  Madeira,  Trinidad, 
Venezuela,  the  Bnhamns.  and  home  by  way  of  the 
Azores.     Tlie  resources  of  the  various  islands,  their 


LADY  BR  ASSET.  315 

history,  and  their  natural  formation,  are  ably  told, 
showing  much  study  as  well  as  intelligent  observa- 
tion. The  maps  and  charts  are  also  valuable.  At 
Trinidad  they  visit  the  fine  Botanic  Gardens,  and 
see  bamboos,  mangoes,  peach-palms,  and  cocoa- 
plants,  from  whose  seeds  chocolate  is  made.  The 
quantity  exported  annually  is  13,000,000  pounds. 

They  also  visit  great  coffee  plantations.  "The 
leaves  of  the  coffee-shrub,"  says  Lady  Brassey,  "  are 
of  a  rich,  dark,  glossy  green ;  the  flowers,  wdiich 
grow  in  dense  white  clusters,  when  in  full  bloom, 
giving  the  bushes  the  appearance  of  being  covered 
with  snow.  The  berries  vary  in  color  from  pale 
green  to  reddish  orange  or  dark  red,  according  to 
their  ripeness,  and  bear  a  strong  resemblance  to 
cherries.  Each  contains  two  seeds,  which,  when 
properly  dried,  become  what  is  known  to  us  as  'raw' 
coffee." 

At  Caracas  they  view  with  interest  the  place 
which,  on  March  26,  1812,  was  nearly  destroyed  by 
an  earthquake,  twelve  thousand  persons  perishing, 
thousands  of  whom  were  buried  alive  by  the  open- 
ino-  of  the  around.  Thev  studv  the  formation  of 
coral-reefs,  and  witness  the  gathering  of  sponges  in 
the  Bahamas.  "These  are  brought  to  the  surface 
by  hooked  poles,  or  sometimes  by  diving.  When 
first  drawn  from  the  water  they  are  covered  with  a 
soft  gelatinous  substance,  as  black  as  tar  and  full  of 
organic  life,  the  sponge,  as  we  know,  being  only  the 
skeleton  of  the  organism." 


316  LADY  B BASSE Y. 

While  all  this  travelling  was  being  enjoyed,  and 
made  most  useful  as  well,  to  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  readers,  Lad}'  Brassey  was  not  forgetting  her 
works  of  philanthropy.  For  years  she  has  been  a 
leading  spirit  in  the  St.  John's  Ambulance  Associa- 
tion. Last  October  she  gave  a  valuable  address  to 
the  members  of  the  "  AVorkingmen's  Club  and  In- 
stitute Union,"  composed  of  several  hundred  socie- 
ties of  workingmen.  Her  desire  was  that  each 
society  take  up  the  work  of  teaching  its  members 
how  to  care  for  the  body  in  case  of  accidents.  The 
association,  now  numbering  over  one  hundred  thou- 
sand persons,  is  an  offshoot  of  the  ancient  order 
of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem,  founded  eight  hundred 
years  ago,  to  maintain  a  hospital  for  Christian  pil- 
grims. She  says:  "The  method  of  arresting 
bleeding  from  an  artery  is  so  easy  that  a  child  may 
learn  it ;  yet  thousands  of  lives  have  been  lost 
through  ignorance,  the  life-blood  ebbing  away  in  the 
presence  of  sorrowing  spectators,  perfectly  help- 
less, because  none  among  them  had  been  taught  one 
of  the  first  rudiments  of  instruction  of  an  ambu- 
lance pupil, — the  application  of  an  extemporized 
tourniquet.  Again,  how  frequent  is  the  loss  of  life 
by  drowning ;  yet  how  few  persons,  comparatively, 
understand  the  way  to  treat  properly  the  appar- 
ently drowned."  Lectures  are  given  by  this  asso- 
ciation on,  first,  aid  to  the  injured ;  also  on  the 
general  management  of  the  sick-room. 

Lady  Brassey,  wif^  the  assistance  of  medical  men. 


LADY  BEASSEY.  317 

has  held  classes  iu  all  the  outlying  villages  about 
her  home,  and  has  arranged  that  simple  but  useful 
medical  appliances,  like  plasters,  bandages,  and  the 
like,  be  kept  at  some  convenient  centres. 

At  Trindad,  and  Bahamas,  and  Bermudas,  when 
they  stayed  there  iu  their  travels,  she  caused  to  be 
held  large  meetings  among  the  most  influential  resi- 
dents ;  also  at  Madeira  and  in  the  Azores.  A 
class  was  organized  on  board  the  Sunbeam^  and 
lectures  were  delivered  by  a  physician.  In  the  Shet- 
land Islands  she  has  also  organized  these  societies, 
and  thus  many  lives  have  been  saved.  When  the 
soldiers  went  to  the  Soudan,  she  arranged  for  these 
helpful  lectures  to  them  on  their  voyage  East,  and 
among  much  other  reading-matter  which  she  ob- 
tained for  them,  sent  them  books  and  papers  on 
this  essential  medical  knowledge. 

She  carries  on  correspondence  with  India,  Aus- 
tralia, and  New  Zealand,  where  ambulance  associa- 
tions have  been  formed.  For  her  valued  services 
she  was  elected  in  1881  a  Dame  Chevaliere  of  the 
Order  of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem. 

Her  work  among  the  poor  in  the  East  End  of 
London  is  admirable.  Too  much  of  this  cannot  be 
done  by  those  who  are  blessed  with  wealth  and  cul- 
ture. She  is  also  interested  in  all  that  helps  to 
educate  the  people,  as  is  shown  by  her  Museum  of 
Natural  History  and  Ethnological  Specimens,  open 
for  inspection  in  the  School  of  Fine  Art  at  Has- 
tings.    How  valuable  is  such  a  life  compared  with 


318  LADY  BBASSEY. 

one  that  uses  its  time  and  money  for  personal  grati- 
fication alone. 

In  August,  1885,  Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Brassey 
took  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gladstone,  aud  a  few  other 
friends,  in  the  Sunbeam,  up  the  coast  of  Norway. 
When  they  landed  at  Stavanger,  a  quaint,  clean 
little  town,  she  says,  in  the  October  Contemporary 
Review :  "  The  reception  which  we  met  in  this  com- 
paratively out-of-the-way  place,  where  our  visit  had 
been  totally  unexpected,  was  ver}'  striking.  From 
early  morning  little  groups  of  townspeople  had  been 
hovering  about  the  quays,  trying  to  get  a  distant 
glimpse  of  the  world-renowned  statesman  who  was 
among  our  passengers."  AVhen  they  walked  through 
the  town,  "  every  window  aud  doorway  was  filled 
with  on-lookers,  several  flags  had  been  hoisted  in 
honor  of  the  occasion,  and  the  church  bells  were 
set  ringing.  It  was  interesting  and  touching  to  see 
the  ex-minister  walking  up  the  narrow  street,  his 
hat  almost  constantly  raised  in  response  to  the  salu- 
tations of  the  townspeople." 

They  sail  up  the  fiords,  they  ride  in  stolkjoerres 
over  the  countr}',  they  climb  mountains,  they  visit 
old  churches,  and  they  dine  with  the  Prince  of 
Wales  on  board  the  royal  yacht  Osborne.  Before 
landing,  Mr.  Gladstone  addresses  the  crew,  thank- 
ing them  that  "  the  voyage  has  been  made  pleasant 
and  safe  by  their  high  sense  of  dut}^  constant 
watchfulness,  and  arduous  exertion."  While  he 
admires  the  "rare  knowledge  of  practical  seaman- 


LADY  BR  ASSET.  319 

ship  of  Sir  Thomas  Brassey,"  and  thanks  both  him 
and  his  wife  for  their  ' '  genial  and  generous  hospi- 
taUty,"  he  does  not  forget  the  sailors,  for  whom  he 
"wishes  health  and  happiness,"  and  "prays  that 
God  may  speed  you  in  all  you  undertake." 
.  Lady  Brassey  is  living  a  useful  and  noble  as  well 
as  intellectual  life.  In  London,  Sir  Thomas  and 
herself  recently  gave  a  reception  to  over  a  thousand 
workingmen  in  the  South  Kensington  Museum. 
Devoted  to  her  family,  she  does  not  forget  the  best 
interests  of  her  country,  nor  the  welfare  of  those 
less  fortunate  than  herself.  Successful  in  author- 
ship, she  is  equally  successful  in  good  works  ;  loved 
at  home  and  honored  abroad. 


320  BAnO^'ESS  BUEDETT-COUTTS. 


BARONESS   BURDETT-COUTTS. 


:>:*ic 


WE  hear,  ^vitli  comparative  frequency,  of  great 
gifts  made  by  men  :  George  Peabocly  and 
Johns  Hopkins,  Ezra  Cornell  and  Matthew  Vassar, 
Commodore  Vanderbilt  and  Leland  Stanford.  But 
gifts  of  millions  have  been  rare  from  women.  Per- 
haps this  is  because  they  have  not,  as  often  as  men, 
had  the  control  of  immense  wealth. 

It  is  estimated  that  Baroness  Burdett-Coutts  has 
already  given  away  from  fifteen  to  twenty  million 
dollars,  and  is  constantl}'  dispensing  her  fortune. 
She  is  feeling,  in  her  lifetime,  the  real  joy  of  giving. 
How  many  benevolent  persons  lose  all  this  joy,  by 
waiting  till  death  before  they  bestow  their  gifts. 

This  remarkable  woman  comes  from  a  remarkable 
family.  Her  father,  Sir  Francis  Burdett,  was  one 
of  England's  most  prominent  members  of  Parlia- 
ment. So  earnest  and  eloquent  was  he  that  Canning- 
placed  him  '•  very  nearly,  if  not  quite,  at  the  head 
of  the  orators  of  the  day."  His  colleague  from 
Westminster,  Hobhouse,  said,  "  Sir  Francis  Burdett 
was  endowed  with  qualities  rarely  united.  A  manl}' 
understanding  and  a  tender  heart  gave  a  charm  to 
his  societv  such  as  I  have  never  derived  in  any  other 


BAKONESS   BUKJ)ETT-COUTTS. 


BARONESS  BURDETT-COUTTS.  321 

instance  from  a  man  whose  principal  pursuit  was 
politics.  He  was  tlie  delight  both  of  young  and 
old." 

He  was  of  fine  presence,  with  great  command  of 
language,  natural,  sincere,  and  impressive.  After 
being  educated  at  Oxford,  he  spent  some  time  in 
Paris  during  the  early  part  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, and  came  home  with  enlarged  ideas  of  liberty. 
AVith  as  much  courage  as  eloquence,  he  advocated 
liberty  of  the  press  in  England,  and  many  Parlia- 
mentary reforms.  Whenever  there  were  misdeeds 
to  be  exposed,  he  exposed  them.  The  abuses  of 
Cold  Bath  Fields  and  other  prisons  were  corrected 
through  his  searching  public  inquiries. 

AYhen  one  of  his  friends  was  shut  up  in  Newgate 
for  impugning  the  conduct  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
Sir  Francis  took  his  part,  and  for  this  it  was  ordered 
that  he  too  be  arrested.  Believing  in  free  speech  as 
he  did,  he  denied  the  right  of  the  House  of  Commons 
to  arrest  him,  and  for  nearly  three  days  barricaded 
his  house,  till  the  police  forcibly  entered,  and  carried 
him  to  the  Tower.  A  riot  resulted,  the  people  as- 
saulting the  police  and  the  soldiers,  for  the  states- 
man was  extremely  popular.  Several  persons  were 
killed  in  the  tumult. 

Nine  years  later,  in  1819,  because  he  condemned 
the  proceedings  of  the  Lancashire  magistrates  in  a 
massacre  case,  he  was  again  arrested  for  libel  (?). 
His  sentence  was  three  months'  imprisonment,  and 
a  fine  of  five  thousand  dollars.      The  banknote  with 


322  BARONESS  BURDErT-COUTTS. 

which  the  money  was  paid  is  still  preserved  in  the 
Bank  of  England,  "  with  an  inscription  in  Burdett's 
own  writing,  that  to  save  his  life,  which  further  im- 
prisonment threatened  to  destroy,  he  submitted  to 
be  robbed." 

For  thirtv  years  he  represented  Westminster,  fear- 
less in  what  he  considered  right ;  strenuous  for  the  abo- 
lition of  slavery,  and  in  all  other  reforms.  Napoleon 
said  at  St.  Helena,  if  he  had  invaded  England  as  he 
had  intended,  he  would  have  made  it  a  republic,  with 
Sir  Francis  Burdett,  the  popular  idol,  at  its  head. 

Wealth}'  himself.  Sir  Francis  married  Sophia,  the 
youngest  daughter  of  the  wealthy  London  banker, 
Thomas  Coutts.  One  son  and  five  daughters  were 
born  to  them,  the  youngest  Angela  Georgina  (April 
21,  1814),  now  the  Baroness  Burdett-Coutts.  Mr. 
Coutts  was  an  eccentric  and  independent  man,  who 
mari-ied  for  his  first  wife  an  excellent  girl  of  very 
humble  position.  Their  children,  from  the  great 
wealth  of  the  father,  married  into  the  highest  social 
rank,  one  being  Marchioness  of  Bute,  one  countess  of 
Guilford,  and  the  third  Lady  Burdett. 

When  Thomas  Coutts  was  eighty-four  he  married 
for  the  second  time,  a  well-known  actress,  Harriet 
Mellon,  who  for  seven  years,  till  his  death,  took 
excellent  care  of  him.  He  left  her  his  whole  fortune, 
amounting  to  several  millions,  feeling,  perhaps,  that 
he  had  provided  sufficiently  for  his  daughters  at 
their  marriage,  by  giving  them  a  half-million  each. 
But  Harrie-t  Mellon,  with  a  fine  sense  of  honor,  felt 


BARONESS  BCRDETT-COUTTS.  323 

that  the  fortune  belonged  to  his  children.  Though 
she  married  five  years  later  the  Duke  of  St.  Albans, 
twenty-four  years  old,  about  half  her  own  age,  at 
her  death,  in  ten  years,  she  left  the  whole  property, 
some  fifteen  millions,  to  Mr.  Coutts'  granddaughter, 
Angela  Burdett.  Only  one  condition  was  imposed, 
—  that  the  young  lady  should  add  the  name  of 
Coutts  to  her  own. 

Miss  Angela  Burdett-Coutts  became,  therefore,  at 
twenty-three,  the  sole  proprietor  of  the  great  Coutts 
banking-house,  which  position  she  held  for  thirty 
years,  and  the  owner  of  an  immense  fortune.  Very 
many  young  men  manifested  a  desire  to  help  care 
for  the  propert}',  and  to  share  it  with  her,  but  she 
seems  from  the  first  to  have  had  but  one  definite 
life-purpose,  —  to  spend  her  mone}'  for  the  good  of 
the  human  race.  She  had  her  father's  strength  of 
character,  was  well  educated,  and  was  a  friend  of 
royalty  itself.  Alas,  how  many  young  women,  with 
fifteen  million  dollars  in  hand,  and  the  sum  con- 
stantly increasing,  would  have  preferred  a  life  of 
display  and  self-aggrandizement  rather  than  visiting 
the  poor  and  the  sorrowing  ! 

Baroness  Burdett-Coutts  is  now  over  seventy,  and 
for  fifty  years  her  name  has  been  one  of  the  bright- 
est and  noblest  in  England,  or,  indeed,  in  the  world. 
Crabb  Robinson  said,  she  is  ''  the  most  generous,  and 
delicately  generous,  person  I  ever  knew." 

Her  charities  have  extended  in  every  direction. 
Among  her  first  good  works  was  the  building  of  two 


324  BARO^''ESS  BURDETT-COUTTS. 

large  churches,  one  at  Carlisle,  and  another,  St. 
Stephen's,  at  Westminster,  the  latter  having  also 
three  schools  and  a  parsonage.  But  Great  Britain 
did  not  require  all  her  gifts.  Gospel  work  was 
needed  in  Australia,  Africa,  and  British  America. 
She  therefore  endowed  three  colonial  bishoprics,  at 
Adelaide,  Cape  Town,  and  in  British  Columbia,  with 
a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars.  In  South  Australia 
she  also  provided  an  institution  for  the  improvement 
of  the  aborigines,  who  were  ignorant,  and  for 
whom  the  world  seemed  to  care  little. 

She  has  generously  aided  her  own  sex.  Feeling 
that  sewing  and  other  household  work  should  be 
taught  in  the  national  schools,  as  from  her  labors 
among  the  poor  she  had  seen  how  often  food  was 
badly  cooked,  and  mothers  were  ignorant  of  sewing, 
she  gave  liberally  to  the  government  for  this  pur- 
pose. Her  heart  also  went  out  to  children  in  the 
remote  districts,  who  were  missing  all  school  privi- 
leges, and  for  these  she  arranged  a  plan  of  "travel- 
ling teachers,"  which  was  heartil}'  approved  b}'  the 
English  authorities.  Even  now  in  these  later  years 
the  Baroness  may  often  be  seen  at  the  night-schools 
of  London,  offering  prizes,  or  encouraging  the  young 
men  and  women  in  their  desire  to  gain  knowledge 
after  the  hard  day's  work  is  done.  She  has  opened 
"Reformatory  Homes  "  for  girls,  and  great  good 
has  resulted. 

Like  Peabod}',  she  has  transformed  some  of  the 
most  degraded  portions  of  London  by  her  improved 


BARONESS  BURDETT-COUTTS.  325 

tenement  houses  for  the  poor.  Once  pkce,  called 
Nova  Scotia  gardens,  — the  term  "  gardens"  was  a 
misnomer,  —  she  purchased,  tore  down  the  old  rook- 
eries where  people  slept  and  ate  in  filth  and  rags, 
and  built  tasteful  homes  for  two  hundred  families, 
charging  for  them  low  and  weekly  rentals.  Close 
b}"  she  built  Columbia  Market,  costing  over  a  mil- 
lion dollars,  intended  for  the  convenience  of  small 
dealers  and  people  in  that  locality,  where  clean, 
healthful  food  could  be  procured.  She  opened  a 
museum  and  reading-room  for  the  neighborhood, 
and  brought  order  and  taste  out  of  squalor  and  dis- 
tress. 

This  building  she  presented  to  the  city  of  London, 
and  in  acknowledgment  of  the  munificent  gift,  the 
Common  Council  presented  her,  July,  1872,  in  a 
public  ceremony,  the  freedom  of  the  city,  an  un- 
common honor  to  a  woman.  It  was  accompanied 
by  a  complimentary  address,  enclosed  in  a  beautiful 
gold  casket  with  several  compartments.  One  bore 
the  arms  of  the  Baroness,  while  the  other  seven  rep- 
resented tableaux  emblematic  of  her  noble  life, 
"Feeding  the  Hungry,"  "Giving  Drink  to  the 
Thirsty,"  "Clothing  the  Naked,"  "Visiting  the 
Captive,"  "Lodging  the  Homeless,"  "Visiting  the 
Sick,"  and  "  Burying  the  Dead."  The  four  cardi- 
nal virtues,  Prudence,  Temperance,  Fortitude,  and 
Justice,  supported  the  box  at  the  four  corners,  while 
the  lid  was  surmounted  by  the  arms  of  the  city. 

The  Baroness  made  an  able  response  to  the  address 


326  BARONESS  BUIWETT-COUTTS. 

of  the  Council,  instead  of  asking  some  gentleman  to 
reply  for  her.  Women  who  can  do  vakiable  benev- 
olent work  should  be  able  to  read  their  own  reports, 
or  say  what  the}'  desire  to  say  in  public  speech, 
without  feeling  that  they  have  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree departed  from  the  dignity  and  delicacy  of  their 
womanhood. 

Two  years  later,  1874,  Edinburgh,  for  her  many 
charities,  also  presented  the  Baroness  the  freedom 
of  the  city.  Queen  Victoria,  three  years  before 
this,  in  June,  1871,  had  made  her  a  peer  of  the 
realm. 

In  Spitalflelds,  London,  where  the  poverty  was 
very  great,  she  started  a  sewing-school  for  adult 
women,  and  provided  not  only  work  for  them,  but 
food  as  well,  so  that  they  might  earn  for  themselves 
rather  than  receive  charity.  To  furnish  this  woi'k, 
she  took  contracts  from  the  government.  From 
this  school  she  sent  out  nurses  among  the  sick, 
giving  them  medical  supplies,  and  clothes  for  the 
deserving.  When  servants  needed  outfits,  the  Bar- 
oness provided  them,  aiding  in  all  ways  those  who 
were  willing  to  work.  All  this  required  much  exec- 
utive ability. 

So  interested  is  she  in  the  welfare  of  poor  chil- 
dren, that  she  has  converted  some  of  the  very  old 
burying-grounds  of  the  city,  where  the  bodies  have 
long  since  gone  back  to  dust,  into  playgrounds, 
with  walks,  and  seats,  and  beds  of  flowers.  Here 
the    children    can   romp    from    morning   till    night. 


BARONESS  BURDETT-COUTTS.  ^'21 

instead  of  living  in  the  stifled  air  of  the  tenement 
houses.  In  old  St.  Pancras  churchyard,  now  used 
as  a  playground,  she  has  erected  a  sundial  as  a 
memorial  to  its  illustrious  dead. 

Not  alone  does  Lady  Burdett-Coutts  build 
churches,  and  help  women  and  girls.  She  has 
fitted  hundreds  of  boys  for  the  Royal  Navy  ;  edu- 
cated them  on  her  training-ships.  She  usually  tries 
them  in  a  shoe-black  brigade,  and  if  they  show  a 
desire  to  be  honest  and  trustworthy,  she  provides 
homes,  either  in  the  navy  or  in  some  good  trade. 

When  men  are  out  of  work,  she  encourages  them 
in  various  ways.  When  the  East  End  weavers  had 
become  reduced  to  poverty  by  the  decay  of  trade, 
she  furnished  funds  for  them  to  emigrate  to  Queens- 
land, with  their  families.  A  large  number  went 
together,  and  formed  a  prosperous  and  happy 
colony,  gratefully  sending  back  thanks  to  their 
benefactor.  They  would  have  starved,  or,  what  is 
more  probable,  gone  into  crime  in  London  ;  now 
they  were  contented  and  satisfied  in  their  new 
home. 

When  the  inhabitants  of  Girvan,  Scotland,  were 
in  distress,  she  advanced  a  large  sum  to  take  all  the 
needy  families  to  Australiao  Here  in  America  we 
talk  every  now  and  then  of  forming  societies  to 
help  the  poor  to  leave  the  cities  and  go  West,  and 
too  often  the  matter  ends  in  talk ;  while  here  is  a 
woman  who  forms  a  society  in  and  of  herself,  and 
sends  the  suffering  to   any  part  of  the  world,  ex- 


328  BAROyKSS  BURDETT-COUTTS. 

pecting  no  money  return  on  the  capital  nsecL  To 
see  happy  and  contented  homes  grow  from  onr 
expenditures  is  such  an  investment  of  capital  as 
helps  to  bring  on  the  millennium. 

When  the  people  near  Skibbereen,  Ireland,  were 
in  want,  she  sent  food,  and  clothing,  and  fishing- 
tackle,  to  enable  them  to  carry  on  their  daily  em- 
ployment of  fishing.  She  supplied  the  necessary 
funds  for  Sir  Henry  James'  topographical  survey 
of  Jerusalem,  in  the  endeavor  to  discover  the 
remains  of  King  Solomon's  temple,  and  offered  to 
restore  the  ancient  aqueduct,  to  supply  the  city 
w^ith  water.  Deeply  interested  in  art,  she  has  aided 
many  struggling  artists.  Her  homes  also  contain 
many  valuable  pictures. 

The  heart  of  the  Baroness  seems  open  to  distress 
from  ever}'  clime.  In  1877,  when  word  reached 
England  of  the  suffering  through  war  of  the  Bul- 
garian and  Turkish  peasantry,  she  instituted  the 
"  Compassion  Fund,"  by  which  one  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars  in  money  and  stores  were 
sent,  and  thousands  of  lives  saved  from  starvation 
and  death.  For  this  generosity  the  Sultan  con- 
ferred upon  her  the  Order  of  Medjidie,  the  first 
woman,  it  is  said,  who  has  received  this  distinction. 

In  all  this  benevolence  she  has  not  overlooked 
the  animal  creation.  She  has  erected  four  hand- 
some drinking  fountains  :  one  in  Victoria  Park,  one 
at  the  entrance  to  the  Zoological  Gardens  in  Re- 
gent's Park,  one  near  Columbia  Market,  and  one  in 


BAROHESS  BURDETT-COUTTS.  329 

the  city  of  Manchester.  At  the  opening  of  the  lat- 
ter, the  citizens  gave  Lady  Burdett-Coutts  a  most 
enthusiastic  reception.  To  the  unique  and  interest- 
ing home  for  lost  dogs  in  London,  she  has  con- 
tributed very  largely.  If  the  poor  animals  could 
speak,  how  would  they  thank  her  for  a  warm  bed 
to  lie  on,  and  proper  food  to  eat ! 

Her  private  gifts  to  the  poor  have  been  number- 
less. Her  city  house,  1  Stratton  Street,  Piccadilly, 
and  her  country  home  at  Holly  Lodge,  Highgate,  are 
both  well  known.  When,  in  1868,  the  great  Reform 
procession  passed  her  house,  and  she  was  at  the 
window,  though  half  out  of  sight,  says  a  person 
who  was  present,  "in  one  instant  a  shout  was 
raised.  For  upwards  of  two  hours  and  a  half  the 
air  rang  with  the  reiterated  huzzas  —  huzzas  unani- 
mous and  heart-felt,  as  if  representing  a  national 
sentiment." 

At  Holly  Lodge,  which  one  passes  in  visiting  the 
grave  of  George  Eliot  at  Highgate  Cemetery,  the 
Baroness  makes  thousands  of  i)ersons  happy  year 
by  year.  Now  she  invites  two  thousand  Belgian 
volunteers  to  meet  the  Prince  and  Princess  of 
Wales,  with  some  five  hundred  royal  and  distin- 
guished guests  ;  now  she  throws  open  her  beautiful 
gardens  to  hundreds  of  school-children,  and  lets 
them  play  at  will  under  the  oak  and  chestnut  trees  ; 
and  now  she  entertains  at  tea  all  her  tenants,  num- 
bering about  a  thousand.  So  genial  and  consider- 
ate is  she  that  all  love  her,  both  rich  and  poor.  She 
has  fine  manners  and  an  open,  pleasant  face. 


330  BARONESS  BIJRDETT-COUTTS. 

For  some  years  a  3'oiiDg  friend,  about  half  her 
own  age,  Mr.  William  Ashmead-Bartlett,  had 
assisted  her  in  dispensing  her  charities,  and  in  her 
financial  matters.  He  went  to  Turkey  at  her  re- 
quest, using  wisely  the  funds  committed  to  his  trust. 
On  Feb.  12,  1881,  all  London  was  agitated  because 
she  who  had  refused  the  hand  of  so  many  others 
was  to  wed  this  3'oung  man. 

At  noon,  in  Christ  Church,  Piccadilly,  in  the 
presence  of  a  few  chosen  friends,  with  several  chil- 
dren as  bridesmaids,  the  Baroness,  in  a  dress  of 
ivory-white  satin,  was  wedded  to  the  man  of  her 
choice.  By  her  noble  and  generous  life  she  had 
earned  the  right  to  marry  where  her  heart  prompted, 
be  the  man  young  or  old.  After  the  wedding  break- 
fast at  the  house  of  her  sister,  they  left  on  a  special 
train  for  Ingleden,  Kent,  for  a  brief  visit  with  the 
family  of  Admiral  Gordon. 

The  marriage  has  proved  a  happy  one.  Not  age, 
but  character,  makes  or  unmakes  marriage.  Mr. 
Ashmead-Bartlett  has  legally  added  the  name  of 
his  wife  to  his  own,  so  that  be  is  now  Mr.  Burdett- 
Coutts  Bartlett.  Both  he  and  an  elder  brother  are 
members  of  Parliament,  and  are  capable  men. 
Though  by  marriage  the  Baroness  forfeits  a  portion 
of  the  fifty  millions  she  is  said  to  possess,  her  hap- 
piness will  not  therefore  be  diminished. 

Her  life  has  been  spent  in  doing  good.  Wliat  a 
noble  example  for  the  wealthy  women  of  England 
and  America,  —  to  use  their  millions  in  their  life- 
time ! 


JEAN    INGELONV 


JEAN  INGELOW. 


THE  same  friend  who  had  given  me  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing's five  volumes  in  blue  and  gold,  came  one 
day  with  a  dainty  volume  just  published  by  Roberts 
Brothers,  of  Boston.  They  had  found  a  new  poet, 
and  one  possessing  a  beautiful  name.  Possibly  it 
was  a  iiom  de  plume,  for  who  had  heard  any  real 
name  so  musical  as  that  of  Jean  Ino;elow  ? 

I  took  the  volume  down  by  the  quiet  stream  that 
flows  below  Amherst  College,  and  day  after  day, 
under  a  grand  old  tree,  read  some  of  the  most  musi- 
cal words,  wedded  to  as  pure  thought  as  our  century 
has  produced. 

The  world  was  just  beginning  to  know  The  High 
Tide  on  the  Coast  of  Lincolnshire.  Eyes  were 
dimming  as  they  read,  — 

"  I  looked  without,  and  lo  !  my  sonno 

Came  riding  downe  with  might  and  main : 
He  raised  a  sliout  as  he  drew  on, 
Till  all  the  welkin  rang  again, 
*  IClizabeth !  Elizabeth  ! ' 

(A  sweeter  woman  ne'er  drew  breath 
Than  my  Sonne's  wife  Elizabeth.) 

"'The  olde  sea  wall  (he  cried)  is  downe, 
The  rising  tide  comes  on  apace, 


332  JEAN  INGELOW. 

And  boats  adrift  in  yonder  tovvne 
Go  sailing  uppe  the  market-place.' 

He  shook  as  one  who  looks  on  death : 

'  God  save  you,  mother! '  straight  he  saith  ; 
'  Where  is  my  wife,  Elizabetli'? '  " 

And  then  the  waters  laid  her  body  at  bis  very 
door,  and  the  sweet  voice  that  called,  "  Cusha ! 
Cusha  !  Cusha  !  "  was  stilled  forever. 

The  Songs  of  Seven  soon  became  as  household 
words,  because  they  were  a  reflection  of  real  life. 
Nobody  ever  pictured  a  child  more  exquisitely  than 
the  little  seven-year-old.  who,  rich  with  the  little 
knowledge  that  seems  much  to  a  child,  looks  down 
from  superior  heights  upon 

"  The  lambs  that  play  always,  they  know  no  better ; 
They  are  only  one  times  one." 
So  happy  is  she  that  she  makes  boon  companions  of 
the  flowers  :  — 

"  0  brave  marshmary  buds,  rich  and  yellow. 
Give  me  your  honey  to  hoUl  I 

"  O  columbine,  open  your  folded  wrapper, 
"Where  two  twin  turtle-doves  dwell ! 
O  euckoopint,  toll  me  the  purple  clapper 
That  hangs  in  your  clear  green  bell !  " 

At  "  seven  times  two,"  w'ho  of  us  has  not  waited 
for  the  great  heavy  curtains  of  the  future  to  be  drawn 
aside  ? 

"  I  wish  and  I  wish  tliat  the  spring  would  go  faster, 
Nor  long  summer  bide  so  late ; 
And  I  could  grow  on,  like  the  fox-glove  and  aster, 
For  some  things  are  ill  to  wait." 


JEAN  INGELOW.  333 

At  twenty-one  the  girl's  heart  flutters  with  expec- 
tancy :  — 

"  I  leaned  out  of  window,  I  smelt  the  white  clover, 
Dark,  dark  was  the  garden,  I  saw  not  the  gate ; 
Now,  if  there  be  footsteps,  he  comes,  my  one  lover; 
Hush  nightingale,  hush  !  O  sweet  nightingale  wait 
Till  I  listen  and  hear 
If  a  step  draweth  near, 
For  my  love  he  is  late !  " 

At  twenty-eight,  the  happy  mother  lives  in  a  sim- 
ple home,  made  beautiful  by  her  children  :  — 

"  Heigho  !  daisies  and  buttercups  ! 

Mother  shall  thread  tliem  a  daisy  chain." 

At  thirty-five  a  widow  ;  at  forty-two  giving  up  her 
children  to  brighten  other  homes ;  at  forty-nine, 
"  Lono-ino;  for  Home." 

"I  had  a  nestful  once  of  my  own. 

Ah,  happy,  happy  I ! 
Eight  dearly  I  loved  them,  but  when  they  were  grown 

They  spread  out  their  wings  to  fly, 
O,  one  after  another  they  flew  away. 

Far  up  to  the  heavenly  blue. 
To  the  better  country,  the  upper  day, 

And  —  I  wish  I  was  going  too." 

The  Songs  of  Seven  will  be  read  and  treasured  as 
long  as  there  are  women  in  the  world  to  be  loved, 
and  men  in  the  world  to  love  them. 

My  especial  favorite  in  the  volume  was  the  poem 
Divided.  Never  have  I  seen  more  exquisite  kinship 
with  nature,  or  more  delicate  and  tender  feeling. 
Where  is  there  so  beautiful  a  picture  as  this? 


334  JEAX  IXGELOW. 

"  An  empty  sk}^  a  world  of  heather, 

Purple  of  fox-glove,  yellow  of  broom ; 
We  two  among  them,  wading  together, 
Shaking  out  honey,  treading  perfume. 

"  Crowds  of  bees  are  giddy  with  clover. 

Crowds  of  grasshoppers  skip  at  our  feet, 
Crowds  of  larks  at  their  matins  hang  over. 
Thanking  the  Lord  for  a  life  so  sweet. 
****** 
"  We  two  walk  till  the  purple  dieth. 

And  short,  dry  grass  under  foot  is  brown  ; 
But  one  little  streak  at  a  distance  lieth 
Green  like  a  ribbon  to  prank  the  down. 

"Over  the  grass  we  stepped  into  it. 

And  God  He  knoweth  how  blithe  we  were ! 
Never  a  voice  to  bid  us  eschew  it ; 

Hey  the  green  ribbon  that  showed  so  fair ! 
****** 
"  A  shady  freshness,  chafers  whirring, 
A  little  piping  of  leaf-hid  birds  ; 
A  flutter  of  wings,  a  fitful  stirring, 

A  cloud  to  the  eastward,  snowy  as  curds. 

"  Bare,  glassy  slopes,  where  kids  are  tethered ; 
Round  valleys  like  nests  all  ferny  lined; 
Round  hills,  with  fluttering  tree-tops  feathered, 
Swell  high  in  their  freckled  robes  behind. 
****** 
"  Glitters  the  dew  and  shines  the  river. 
Up  comes  the  lily  and  dries  her  bell; 
But  two  are  walking  apart  forever, 

And  wave  their  hands  for  a  mute  farewell. 
****** 
"  And  yet  I  know  past  all  doubting,  truly  — 

And  knowledge  greater  than  grief  can  dim  — 


JEAN  INGE  LOW.  335 

I  know,  as  he  loved,  lie  will  love  me  duly  — 
Yea,  better  —  e'en  better  than  1  love  him. 

"  And  as  I  walk  by  the  vast  calm  river, 
The  awful  river  so  dread  to  see, 
I  say,  « Thy  breadth  and  thy  deptli  forever 

Are  bridged  by  his  thoughts  that  cross  to  me.' " 

In  what  choice  but  simple  language  we  are  thus 
told  that  two  loving  hearts  cannot  be  divided. 

Years  went  by,  and  I  was  at  last  to  see  the  author 
of  the  poems  I  had  loved  in  girlhood.  I  had  won- 
dered how  she  looked,  what  was  her  manner,  and 
what  were  her  surroundings. 

In  Kensington,  a  suburb  of  London,  in  a  two- 
story-and-a-half  stone  house,  cream-colored,  Hves 
Jean  Ingelow.  Tasteful  grounds  are  in  front  of  the 
home,  and  in  the  rear  a  large  lawn  bordered  with 
many  flowers,  and  conservatories  ;  a  real  English 
garden,  soft  as  velvet,  and  fragrant  as  new-mown 
hay.  The  house  is  fit  for  a  poet ;  roomy,  cheerful, 
and  filled  with  flowers.  One  end  of  the  large,  double 
parlors  seemed  a  bank  of  azalias  and  honeysuckles, 
while  great  bunches  of  yellow  primrose  and  blue 
forget-me-not  were  on  the  tables  and  in  the  bay- 
windows. 

But  most  interesting  of  all  was  the  poet  herself, 
in  middle  life,  with  fine,  womanly  face,  friendly 
manner,  and  cultivated  mind.  For  an  hour  we 
talked  of  many  things  in  both  countries.  Miss 
Ingelow  showed  great  familiarity  with  American 
literature  and  with  our  national  questions. 


336  JEAN  INGELOW. 

While  everything  about  her  indicated  deep  love 
for  poetry,  and  a  keen  sense  of  the  beautiful,  her 
conversation,  fluent  and  admirable,  showed  her  to 
be  eminently  practical  and  sensible,  without  a  touch 
of  sentimentality.  Her  first  work  in  life  seems  to 
be  the  making  of  her  two  brothers  happy  in  the 
home.  She  usually  spends  her  forenoons  in  writing. 
She  does  her  literary  work  thoroughly,  keeping  her 
productions  a  long  time  before  they  are  put  into 
print.  As  she  is  never  in  robust  health,  she  gives 
little  time  to  societ}',  and  passes  her  winters  in  the 
South  of  France  or  Italy.  A  letter  dated  Feb.  25, 
from  the  Alps  Maritime,  at  Cannes,  says,  "This 
lovely  spot  is  full  of  flowers,  birds,  and  butterflies." 
Who  that  recalls  her  Songs  on  the  Voices  of  Birds^ 
the  blackbird,  and  the  nightingale,  will  not  appreciate 
her  happiness  with  such  surroundings  ? 

With  great  fondness  for,  and  pride  in,  her  own 
country,  she  has  the  most  kindly  feelings  toward 
America  and  her  people.  She  says  in  the  preface 
of  her  novel,  Fated  to  he  Free^  concerning  this  work 
and  Off  the  SkeUigs,  "I  am  told  that  they  are 
peculiar ;  and  I  feel  that  they  must  be  so,  for  most 
stories  of  human  life  are,  or  at  least  aim  at  being, 
works  of  art  —  selections  of  interesting  portions  of 
life,  and  fitting  incidents  put  together  and  presented 
as  a  picture  is  ;  and  I  have  not  aimed  at  producing 
a  work  of  art  at  all,  but  a  piece  of  nature."  And 
then  she  goes  on  to  explain  her  position  to  "  her 
American  friends,"  for,  she  says,  "  I  am  sure  you 


JEAN  INGELOW.  337 

more  than  deserve  of  me  some  efforts  to  please  yon. 
I  seldom  have  an  opportunity  of  saying  how  truly  I 
think  so." 

Jean  Ingelow's  life  has  been  a  quiet  but  busy  and 
earnest  one.  She  was  born  in  the  quaint  old  city  of 
Boston,  England,  in  1830.  Her  father  was  a  well- 
to-do  banker ;  her  mother  a  cultivated  woman  of 
Scotch  descent,  from  Aberdeenshire.  Jean  grew  to 
womanhood  in  the  midst  of  eleven  brothers  and 
sisters,  without  the  fate  of  struggle  and  poverty,  so 
common  among  the  great. 

She  writes  to  a  friend  concerning  her  childhood  :  — 
"  As  a  child,  I  was  very  happy  at  times,  and 
generally  wondering  at  something.  ...  I  was  un- 
commonly like  other  children.  ...  I  remember 
seeing  a  star,  and  that  my  mother  told  me  of  God 
who  lived  up  there  and  made  the  star.  This  was  on 
a  summer  evening.  It  was  my  first  hearing  of  God, 
and  made  a  great  impression  on  my  mind.  I  re- 
member better  than  anything  that  certain  ecstatic 
sensations  of  joy  used  to  get  hold  of  me,  and  that  I 
used  to  creep  into  corners  to  think  out  my  thoughts 
by  myself.  I  was,  however,  extremely  timid,  and 
easily  overawed  by  fear.  We  had  a  lofty  nursery 
with  a  bow-window  that  overlooked  the  river.  My 
brother  and  I  were  constantly  wondering  at  this 
river.  The  coming  up  of  the  tides,  and  the  ships, 
and  the  jolly  gangs  of  towers  ragging  tliem  on  with 
a  monotonous  song  made  a  daily  delight  for  us. 
The  washing  of  the  water,  the  sunshine  upon  it,  and 


338  JEAN  INGELOW. 

the  reflections  of  the  waves  on  our  nurseiy  ceiling 
supplied  hours  of  talk  to  us,  and  daj's  of  pleasure. 
At  this  time,  being  three  years  old,  ...  I  learned 
my  letters.  ...  I  used  to  think  a  good  deal,  espe- 
cially about  the  origin  of  things.  People  said  often 
that  they  had  been  in  this  world,  that  liouse,  that 
nursery,  before  I  came.  I  thought  everything  must 
have  begun  when  I  did.  ...  No  doubt  other  chil- 
dren have  such  thoughts,  but  few  remember  them. 
Indeed,  nothing  is  more  remarkalile  among  intelli- 
gent people  than  the  recollections  they  retain  of 
their  early  childhood.  A  few,  as  I  do,  remember  it 
all.  Many  remember  nothing  whatever  which  oc- 
curred before  they  were  five  years  old.  ...  I  have 
suffered  much  from  a  feeling  of  shyness  and  reserve, 
and  I  have  not  been  able  to  do  things  by  trying  to 
do  them.  What  comes  to  me  comes  of  its  own 
accord,  and  almost  in  spite  of  me  ;  and  I  have  hardly 
any  power  when  verses  are  once  written  to  make 
them  any  better.  .  .  .  There  were  no  hardsliips  in 
my  youth,  but  care  was  bestowed  on  me  and  my 
brothers  and  sisters  by  a  father  and  mother  who 
were  both  cultivated  people." 

To  another  friend  she  writes  :  "  I  suppose  I  may 
take  for  granted  that  mine  was  the  poetic  tem- 
perament, and  since  there  are  no  thrilUng  incidents 
to  relate,  you  may  think  you  should  like  to  have  my 
views  as  to  what  that  means.  I  cannot  tell  you  in 
an  hour,  or  even  in  a  day,  for  it  means  so  much.  I 
suppose  it,  of  its  absence  or  presence,  to  make  far 


JEAN  INGELOW.  339 

more  difference  between  one  person  and  another  than 
any  contrast  of  circumstances  can  do.  The  possessor 
does  not  have  it  for  nothing.  It  isolates,  particuUirly 
in  childhood  ;  it  takes  away  some  common  blessings, 
but  then  it  consoles  for  them  all." 

With  this  poetic  temperament,  that  saw  beauty  in 
flower,  and  sky,  and  bird,  that  felt  keenly  all  the 
sorrow  and  all  the  happiness  of  the  world  about  her, 
that  wrote  of  life  rather  than  art,  because  to  live 
rightly  was  the  whole  problem  of  human  existence, 
with  this  poetic  temperament,  the  girl  grew  to 
womanhood  in  the  city  bordering  on  the  sea. 

Boston,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Witham,  was  once  a 
famous  seaport,  the  rival  of  London  in  commercial 
prosperity,  in  the  thirteenth  century.  It  was  the 
site  of  the  famous  monastery  of  St.  Botolph,  built 
by  a  pious  monk  in  657.  The  town  which  grew  up 
around  it  was  called  Botolph's  town,  contracted 
finally  to  Boston.  From  this  town  Reverend  John 
Cotton  came  to  America,  and  gave  the  name  to  the 
capital  of  Massachusetts,  in  which  he  settled.  The 
present  famous  old  church  of  St.  Botolph  was  founded 
in  1309,  having  a  bell-tower  three  hundred  feet  high, 
which  supports  a  lantern  visible  at  sea  for  forty 
miles. 

The  surrounding  country  is  made  up  largely  of 
marshes  reclaimed  from  the  sea,  which  are  called 
fens,  and  slightly  elevated  tracts  of  land  called 
moors.  Here  Jean  Ingelow  studied  the  green 
meadows  and  the  ever-changing  ocean. 


340  JEAN  INGELOW. 

Her  first  book,  A  Rhyming  Chronicle  Of  Incidents 
and  Feelings,  was  published  in  1850,  when  she  was 
twent}",  and  a  novel,  Allerton  and  Dreux^  in  1851  ; 
nine  years  later  her  Tales  of  Orris.  But  her  fame 
came  at  thirty-three,  when  her  first  full  book  of 
Poems  was  published  in  18G3.  This  was  dedicated 
to  a  much  loved  brother,  George  K.  lugelow  :  — 

"  YOUR    LOVING    SISTER 

OFFERS    YOU    THESE    POEMS,    PARTLY    AS 

AN   EXPRESSION    OF    HER   AFFECTION,  PARTLY    FOR    THE 

PLEASURE    OF    CONNECTING    HER   EFFORT 

WITH    YOUR    NAME." 

The  press  everywhere  gave  flattering  notices.  A 
new  singer  had  come  ;  not  one  whose  life  had  been 
spent  in  the  study  of  Greek  roots,  simply,  but  one 
who  had  studied  nature  and  humanity.  She  had  a 
message  to  give  the  world,  aud  she  gave  it  well.  It 
was  a  message  of  good  cheer,  of  earnest  purpose, 
of  contentment  and  hope. 

"  What  though  unmarked  the  happy  workman  toil, 
And  break  unthanked  of  man  tlie  stubborn  clod? 
It  is  enough,  for  sacred  is  the  soil, 
Dear  are  the  hills  of  God. 

"Far  better  in  its  place  the  lowliest  bird 

Should  sing  aright  to  him  the  lowliest  song, 
Than  that  a  seraph  strayed  should  take  the  word 
And  sing  his  glory  wrong." 

"But  like  a  river,  blest  where'er  it  flows, 
Be  still  receiving  while  it  still  bestows," 


JEAN  INGE  LOW.  341 

"That  life 

Goes  best  with  those  who  take  it  best. 

—  it  is  well 

For  us  to  be  as  happy  as  we  can  ! " 

"Work  is  its  own  best  earthly  meed, 
Else  have  we  none  more  than  the  sea-born  throng 
Who  wrought  those  marvellous  isles  that  bloom  afar." 

The  London  press  said:  "Miss  Ingelow's  new 
volume  exhibits  nl)iindant  evidence  that  time,  stud3^ 
and  devotion  to  her  vocation  have  both  elevated  and 
welcomed  the  powers  of  the  most  gifted  poetess  we 
possess,  now  that  Elizabeth  Ikirrett  Browning  and 
Adelaide  Proctor  sing  no  more  on  earth.  Lincoln- 
shire has  claims  to  be  considered  the  Arcadia  of 
England  at  present,  having  given  birth  to  Mr.  Ten- 
nyson and  our  present  Lady  Laureate." 

The  press  of  America  was  not  less  cordial. 
"Except  Mrs.  Browning,  Jean  Ingelow  is  first 
among  the  women  whom  the  world  calls  poets," 
said  the  Independent. 

The  songs  touched  the  popular  heart,  and  some, 
set  to  music,  were  sung  at  numberless  firesides. 
AVho  has  not  heard  the  Sailing  beyond  Seas? 

"Methought  the  stars  were  blinking  bright, 

And  the  old  brig's  sails  unfurled  ; 
I  said,  'I  will  sail  to  my  love  this  night 

At  the  other  side  of  the  world.' 
I  stepped  aboard,  —  we  sailed  so  fast, — 

The  sun  shot  up  from  the  bourne ; 
But  a  dove  that  perched  upon  the  mast 

Did  mourn,  and  mourn,  and  mourn. 


342  JEAN  INGELOW. 

O  fair  dove  !  0  fond  dove  ! 

And  dove  with  the  white  breast, 
Let  me  alone,  the  dream  is  my  own, 

And  my  heart  is  full  of  rest, 

"My  love!  He  stood  at  my  right  hand, 

His  eyes  were  grave  and  sweet. 
Methought  he  said,  '  In  this  fair  land, 

O,  is  it  thus  we  meet  ? 
Ah,  maid  most  dear,  I  am  not  here ; 

I  have  no  place,  —  no  part, — 
No  dwelling  more  by  sea  or  shore ! 

But  only  in  thy  heart ! ' 

O  fair  dove !  0  fond  dove  ! 

Till  night  rose  over  the  bourne. 
The  dove  on  the  mast  as  we  sailed  past, 

Did  mourn,  and  mourn,  and  mourn." 

Edmuud  Clarence  Stedman,  one  of  the  ablest  and 
fairest  among  American  critics,  says:  "As  the 
voice  of  Mrs.  Browning  grew  silent,  the  songs  of 
Miss  Ingelow  began,  and  had  instant  and  merited 
popularit}'.  They  sprang  up  suddenly  and  tunefully 
as  skylarks  from  the  daisy-spangled,  hawthorn- 
bordered  meadows  of  old  England,  with  a  blitheness 
long  unknown,  and  in  their  idyllic  uuderflights 
moved  with  the  tenderest  currents  of  human  life. 
Miss  Ingelow  ma}'  be  termed  an  idyllic  lyrist,  her 
lyrical  pieces  having  always  much  idyllic  beauty. 
High  Tide^  Winstanley,  Songs  of  Seven,  and  the 
Long  White  Seam  are  lyrical  treasures,  and  the 
author  especially  may  be  said  to  evince  that  sincer- 
ity which  is  poetry's  most  enduring  warrant." 


JEAN  INGELOW.  343 

Winstanley  is  especially  full  of  pathos  and 
action.  We  watch  this  heroic  man  as  he  builds 
the  lighthouse  on  the  Eddystoue  rocks :  — 

"  Then  he  and  the  sea  began  their  strife, 
And  worked  with  power  and  might : 
Whatever  the  man  reared  up  by  day 
The  sea  broke  down  by  night. 
****** 
"  A  Scottish  schooner  made  the  port 
The  thirteenth  day  at  e'en  : 
*As  I  am  a  man,'  the  captain  cried, 
*  A  strange  sight  I  have  seen ; 

"  'And  a  strange  sound  heard,  my  masters  all, 
At  sea,  in  the  fog  and  the  rain, 
Like  shipwrights'  hammers  tapping  low, 
Then  loud,  then  low  again. 

" '  And  a  stately  house  one  instant  showed. 
Through  a  rift,  on  the  vessel's  lea ; 
What  manner  of  creatures  may  be  those 
That  build  upon  the  sea? ' " 

After  the  lighthouse  was  built,  "Winstanle}'  went 
out  again  to  see  his  precious  tower.  A  fearful 
storm  came  up,  and  the  tower  and  its  builder  went 
down  together. 

Several  books  have  come  from  Miss  Ingelow's 
pen  since  1863.  The  following  year,  Studies  for 
Stories  was  published,  of  whicli  the  Athenceum  said, 
"They  are  prose  poems,  carefully  meditated,  and 
exquisitely  touched  in  by  a  teacher  ready  to  sympa- 
thize with  every  joy  and  sorrow."     The  five  stories 


344  JEAN  INGELOW. 

are  told  in  simple  and  clear  language,  and  without 
slang,  to  which  she  heartily  objects.  For  one  so 
rich  in  imagination  as  Miss  Ingelow,  her  prose  is 
singularly  free  from  obscurity  and  florid  language. 

Stories  told  to  a  Child  was  published  in  1865,  and 
A  Story  of  Doom^  and  Otlier  Poems ^  in  1868,  the 
principal  poem  being  drawn  from  the  time  of  the 
Deluge.  3Ioj)sa  the  Fairy,  an  exquisite  story,  fol- 
lowed a  year  later,  with  A  Sister's  Bye-hours,  and 
since  that  time,  Off  the  Skelligs  in  1872,  Fated  to  be 
Free  in  1875,  Sarah  de  Berenger  in  1879,  Don  John 
in  1881,  and  Poems  of  the  Old  Days  and  the  New, 
recently  issued.  Of  the  latter,  the  poet  Stoddard 
says  :  "  Beyond  all  the  women  of  the  Victorian  era, 
she  is  the  most  of  an  Elizabethan.  .  .  .  She  has 
tracked  the  ocean  journeyings  of  Drake,  Raleigh, 
and  Frobisher,  and  others  to  whom  the  Spanish 
main  was  a  second  home,  the  El  Dorado  of  which 
Columbus  and  his  followers  dreamed  in  their  stormy 
slumbers.  .  .  .  The  first  of  her  poems  in  this  vol- 
ume, Rosamund,  is  a  masterly  battle  idyl." 

Her  books  have  had  large  sale,  both  here  and  in 
Europe.  It  is  stated  that  in  this  country  one  hun- 
dred thousand  of  her  Poems  have  been  sold,  and 
half  that  number  of  her  prose  works. 

Miss  Ingelow  has  not  been  elated  by  her  deserved 
success.  She  has  told  the  world  very  little  of  her- 
self in  her  books.  She  once  wrote  a  friend:  "I 
am  far  from  agreeing  with  you  '  that  it  is  rather  too 
bad  when  we  read  people's  works,  if  they  won't  let 


JEAX  IXGELOW.  345 

US  know  anything  about  themselves.'  I  consider 
that  an  author  should,  during  life,  be  as  much  as 
possible,  impersonal.  I  never  import  myself  into 
my  writings,  and  am  much  better  pleased  that 
others  should  feel  an  interest  in  me,  and  wish  to 
know  something  of  me,  than  that  they  should  com- 
plain of  egotism." 

It  is  said  that  the  last  of  her  Songs  icith  Preludes 
refers  to  a  brother  who  lies  buried  in  Australia  :  — 

*•'  I  stand  on  the  bridge  where  last  we  stood 
When  delicate  leaves  were  young  ; 
The  children  called  us  from  yonder  wood, 
While  a  mated  blackbird  sung. 

^  "^  ^  ^  y^  ¥^ 

"  But  if  all  loved,  as  the  few  can  love. 
This  world  would  seldom  be  well ; 
And  Avho  need  wish,  if  he  dwells  above, 
For  a  deep,  a  long  death-knell  ? 

"  There  are  four  or  five,  who,  passing  this  place, 
While  they  live  will  name  me  yet ; 
And  when  I  am  gone  will  think  on  my  face. 
And  feel  a  kind  of  regret." 

"With  all  her  literary  work,  she  does  not  forget  to 
do  good  personally.  At  one  time  she  instituted  a 
"  copyright  dinner,"  at  her  own  expense,  which  she 
thus  described  to  a  friend  :  "I  have  set  up  a  dinner- 
table  for  the  sick  poor,  or  rather,  for  such  persons 
as  are  just  out  of  the  hospitals,  and  are  hungry,  and 
vet  not  strong  enough  to  work.     "SVe  have  about 


346  JEAN  INGELOW. 

twelve  to  dinner  three  times  a  week,  and  hope  to 
continue  the  plan.  It  is  such  a  comfort  to  see  the 
good  it  does.  I  find  it  one  of  the  great  pleasures 
of  writing,  that  it  gives  me  more  command  of  money 
for  such  purposes  than  falls  to  the  lot  of  most 
women."  Again,  she  writes  to  an  American  friend  : 
"  I  should  be  much  obliged  to  you  if  you  would  give 
in  my  name  twenty-five  dollars  to  some  charity  in 
Boston.  I  should  prefer  such  a  one  as  does  not 
belong  to  any  party  in  particular,  such  as  a  city 
infirmary  or  orphan  school.  I  do  not  like  to  draw 
mone}'  from  your  country,  and  give  none  in 
charity." 

Miss  Ingelow  is  very  fond  of  children,  and  herein 
is,  perhaps,  one  secret  of  her  success.  In  Off  the 
SkelUgs  she  says  :  "  Some  people  appear  to  feel 
that  they  are  much  wiser,  much  nearer  to  the  truth 
and  to  realities,  than  they  were  when  they  were  chil- 
dren. They  think  of  childhood  as  immeasurabh' 
beneath  and  behind  them.  I  have  never  been  able 
to  join  in  such  a  notion.  It  often  seems  to  me  that 
w^e  lose  quite  as  much  as  we  gain  by  our  lengthened 
sojourn  here.  I  should  not  at  all  wonder  if  the 
thoughts  of  our  childhood,  when  we  look  back  on 
it  after  the  rending  of  this  vail  of  our  humanity, 
should  prove  less  unlike  what  we  were  intended  to 
derive  from  the  teaching  of  life,  nature,  and  revela- 
tion, than  the  thoughts  of  our  more  sophisticated 
days." 

Best  of  all,   this  true  woman    and  true  poet  as 


JEAN  tNGELOW.  347 

well,  like  Emerson,  sees  and  believes  in  the  progress 
of  the  race. 

"  Still  humanity  grows  clearer, 
Being  learned  the  more," 

she  says,  in  that  tender  poem,  A  Mother  shoicing 
the  Portrait  of  her  Child.  Blessed  optimism  !  that 
amid  all  the  shortcomings  of  human  nature  sees 
the  best,  lifts  souls  upward,  and  helps  to  make  the 
world  sunny  by  its  singing. 


PRESSWORK  BY    BERWICK  &.  SMITH,  BOSTON. 


mi 


^^ 


